


All Is Fair in Love and War

by Syaunei



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Banter, But so is Garak, Cultural Differences, Getting Together, Julian is a massive tease, M/M, POV Elim Garak, Pining, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Skant, Switching, because the world needs more Garak POV, they balance each other out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syaunei/pseuds/Syaunei
Summary: Garak notices a disturbing trend in his lunch companion's choice of fashion.Is Julian being his usual clueless self, or is he doing it on purpose?(aka Syaunei takes skant fic for a spin)
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 342
Kudos: 397





	1. The Silver Monstrosity

**Author's Note:**

> I have been thoroughly enjoying this skant trend and decided to write something for fun to rest my brain from moving house! DHW, bless your thirsty brain.
> 
> Enjoy!

Garak was looking at his ever-exuberant lunchtime companion with an expression he fervently hoped concealed just how distracted he was. 

Also distraught.

What _was_ the doctor wearing?

It was silver, and aside from the obvious strategic padding meant for lessening impact of a strenuous activity this _thing_ was clearly designed for, it hid _absolutely_ nothing. He could cite the exact paragraph of the modesty law Bashir would get arrested for breaking if he showed up on Cardassia dressed like this. That, of course, didn't matter because they were not currently on Cardassia, and Terok Nor was no longer under Cardassian jurisdiction. It was still damned distracting.

“…And that’s why Legate Temar’s choice was utterly insignificant in the end! The war would have ended the same with or without his input!”

Garak offered an indulgent smile,

“Dear Doctor, that was the entire point! Legate Temar was merely a piece of the mosaic that is the Cardassian State, and he performed his duty admirably!”

A tendril of pleasure unfurled down his spine at the sight of hazel eyes flashing with passion over an argument Garak could see brewing in the Doctor’s quick mind, ready to spill out of his already open mouth. The outraged tone sent a swarm of warm prickles down his aural ridges.

“I fail to see the point of writing about a character that could easily be substituted for a piece of cardboard – it would serve the same function!”

Garak sighed as loudly as he could for maximum effect.

“Must you _continue_ to ascribe human values to Cardassian writing? No matter how many fine examples of my people’s literature I offer you for perusal, you persist in this folly! Can you not, as you say – _Put yourself in my shoes,_ hmm?”

“I am trying, Garak! But this novel is even _worse_ than the things you usually give me to read! It’s like you’re deliberately trying to give me the driest, most blandly unappealing books in existence!”

Garak tried to hide his smile, he really did. What should have been a mildly exasperated expression, morphed (entirely against his will) into a mischievous smile. Of _course_ he was giving Bashir the most run-of-the-mill, a-dime-a-dozen books he could find! Those were the ones that _really_ got his hot blood pumping. God forbid he gave him anything good, they’d have nothing to argue about! And _that_ would be an absolute waste of the dear doctor’s wit. Not to mention the way he was flailing whenever he got properly outraged – Garak could watch his animated features and widely splayed fingers for hours on end. 

Which made this situation somewhat of a predicament. 

The gleaming outfit was absolutely blinding, and not in a good way. In the Federation lights, it was positively _ghastly_ and was actually giving him a headache – Cardassian eyes were not made for so much glare, but the _outline_ … So sharply cut from the muted silhouettes of other diners, it shone like a beacon a stranded man dared not tear their eyes from. 

He literally didn’t need a scanner to take Bashir’s measurements, for nothing was hidden from his gaze – the slim wiry arms, the narrow shoulders, the slender chest and trim waist…

Oh, he had known from the moment he first saw Doctor Bashir that the man was trouble. He had also realized very soon into their acquaintance, that he would not be able to persist in wearing garments that revealed his neck (lest he turn into a beacon himself, one that clearly signaled just how hopelessly aroused he was whenever Bashir happened to be around). He already stood out just by virtue of being the only Cardassian on board and the extra scrutiny was imprudent, to say the least. Besides, some of the Bajorans probably had more than a vague idea about what aroused Cardassians looked like. Curse Skrain and his undisciplined rabble. 

Well, Garak was nothing if not disciplined. 

Said discipline was currently being put to the test. Bashir’s face was wonderfully flushed from the tirade Garak had apparently failed to process in its entirety, so busy he was staring at that obscenely heaving chest.

“I swear, I will give you the most boring human novel ever written in return - I can’t read any more of this! Please, can we change genres at least?”

The pleading eyes were accursedly effective. Garak bemoaned the loss of his self-respect and folded like a wet napkin. 

“If we must…” He sighed, affecting aggravation, “Perhaps some poetry to cleanse your palate?”

Bashir sagged in his chair with relief. Garak found the sight disturbingly endearing.

“ _Thank_ you! If I had to slog through another repetitive epic, I would have made Jadzia stun me with a phaser to get me out of our lunch appointment!”

The image may have been amusing, but the implication was decidedly not. Garak was very much invested in keeping the dear doctor around, even if half the time he was left in quite the predicament once their lunch was over. Luckily for him, Bashir was a very busy man and often had to dash away. Garak fervently hoped today would be one of the days the good doctor decided to bail on him. 

He needed time to bring his errant body under control.

“I’ll find something interesting for you Garak, I promise!” Julian assured him as he swept through the rest of his meal like a particularly fascinating kind of localized tornado, jumping to his feet and slinging his bag over his shoulder as he balanced his tray on the way to the reclamation unit. 

Garak tried really hard not to stare at the longest pair of legs his eyes had ever had the privilege of seeing. He was fairly certain his covert training failed to conceal his shamelessly roaming gaze. This only reaffirmed his belief that their uniforms were _atrocious_. Hiding this kind of physique behind padding and shapeless cut… It was _criminal_.

The only blessing in disguise was that, while the uniform did hide Julian from his gaze, it also hid his many delights from any other potential mates. Garak was still secretly bewildered by the fact that Julian wasn’t as popular as his intellect and physique should warrant. For some reason, most of the man’s _Federaji_ colleagues found his passionate monologues… exasperating? Uninteresting? Too long-winded?

Garak couldn’t fathom seeing a person with so much passion overflowing so abundantly and so freely and _not_ being drawn to them. What was wrong with these people?

Still, he wasn’t ungrateful. The quirk of social norms that made Bashir so unappealing to his own kind, made him utterly irresistible to Garak. Julian could talk _for hours_ , never running out of interesting or insightful things to say. It was when Garak caught himself drawing out their lunches just so they could speak longer that he knew he was irrevocably lost. He may have approached Bashir with the sole intention of bedding him, but, as always, good conversation proved his downfall. 

So, here he was again, staring at Bashir’s alluring form as it disappeared from view with a long, energetic stride no other person could emulate. 

Oh, yes. He was too far gone and he knew it. 

His only hope was that Bashir would never show up in a garment as revealing as this again. 


	2. The Asymmetrical Number

The dear doctor was late.

This wasn't unusual in and of itself, so Garak didn't waste his time fretting about it. That was the inherent risk that came with the territory of being friends with the station's CMO who was a notoriously busy individual. Besides, it's not like Bashir could get out of a medical emergency long enough to call him to postpone – being in surgery precluded such frivolities and Garak had long made peace with that. Sure, having to wait ages for a companion that occasionally failed to arrive altogether was unpleasant, yet the genuine contriteness with which Julian would always invariably apologize, sometimes to the point of self-debasement, was a treat in its own right. Garak had never met a person so genuinely pleased to spend time in his company. The novelty was yet to wear off.

So, he settled in his chair, re-reading the poetry of the Grand Exile Iloja of Prim; warming his hand around a cup of red leaf tea. For a change, he had decided to give dear Bashir something with actual merit, if only to see how creative he could get denigrating it. He had a feeling the doctor would actually like it and wondered how long it would take him to pick up on the obvious xenophiliac undertones Iloja’s work contained. Also how long Garak could obfuscate the matter.

Especially with passages like these:

_“Under foreign moons flow rivers I do not know the names of,_

_Yet I shall drink from them all the same,_

_Counting pebbles on the shore,_

_Copper gleam upon the sand_

_And the water a different shade of blue…”_

To anyone with a decent familiarity with Cardassian literature, this would read positively pornographic. Water was equated with life, which may be a somewhat universal theme, but Garak secretly hoped that Bashir would project the Terran symbolism and color associated with water onto this work as well. After all, Cardassian skies were not blue and thus, neither were their waters. Blue was a deeply sensual color – flushed scales tinged with arousal, signaling either availability or interest... On Cardassia, his eyes were often the only thing people found appealing about him. The only thing at first glance, that is.

Then there were the pebbles, clear allusion to Cardassian skin, yet never described as copper. Never likened to sand. What Iloja was describing was clearly an alien lover, soft-skinned and willing…

Garak felt a pang of envy so strong it bordered on rage. Well, he only had himself to blame. He wasn’t a controversial poet, exiled over racy literature yet still undeniably one of the most gifted minds Cardassia had ever produced, no – he was a washed-out operative, scrabbling for a place at the table that no longer welcomed him.

At least at this table, this cold, impersonal table on this cold station, surrounded by warm-blooded beings who were positively glacial in demeanor, he had managed to eke out a place where he actually felt warm and welcomed.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! Jadzia dropped by and she-“

Garak was so startled that his hand twitched badly enough that he actually spilled his tea all over the table. A swift movement prevented the liquid from splashing over his padd or his trousers, but the damage was already done – as his distressingly soggy sleeve could attest.

“Garak! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think-“

“It’s quite alright, Doctor.” Garak forestalled the torrent of apologies that he felt was coming his way, “Nothing a good dabbing with a napkin and some time cannot solve…”

Since when could Julian catch him unawares?

Garak frowned and rolled his sleeve up with barely restrained disgust. Clingy wet clothes in this temperature were absolutely revolting.

“Would you like to go change, Garak?” Julian offered considerately, but Garak waved him away.

“I will survive. It was just a bit of tea.”

With that statement, he made the great mistake of looking up at his lunchtime companion for the first time since he’d arrived. Unable to prevent the widening of his eyes or the rising of his eye-ridges, Garak promptly shut his mouth, teeth clicking together in his haste.

Who in tarnation thought that an asymmetrical neckline would be acceptable?

It ruined the visual appeal of the slope of clavicles – you either revealed all of it, or none of it. This partial reveal was…

Was…

“Oh, okay then. I’ll just grab lunch, in that case. Since I was late, I might as well bring you yours… What would you like?”

“Zabu stew, if you please.” Garak said primly, smiling amiably until Bashir turned away, heading towards the replicators. Along with Bashir, went his smile.

This left Garak wondering which law of the Universe he’d managed to piss off today.

Blue and purple. Together. On the same garment. With an asymmetrical neckline. He wondered how to spin his relatively genuine outrage to convince Bashir never to wear it again.

Or to take it off immediately.

To his dismay, his sleeve wasn’t the only wet thing clinging to his skin.

Iloja’s words mocked him from the padd and he turned it off with a vicious stab of his finger.

“There we go,” Bashir said with all the nauseatingly chipper tones of the morbidly innocent and gently deposited the tray containing his stew in front of him. “One zabu stew for the discerning gentleman!”

Garak couldn’t help the wry smirk that emerged any more than he could help the other kind of emergence caused, as always, by this exasperating human. It enraged him just how painfully unaware of his own appeal Bashir was. Surely, _surely_ nobody could be this clueless??

Garak watched the doctor slide into his seat with the usual perplexing mixture of awkwardness and grace and cursed him for his irresistible and unaffected charm. Any Cardassian courtesan would _kill_ to possess even a fraction of Julian Bashir’s natural charisma. Or his proportions.

Hebitian gods… Whoever made this man did so to spite Garak.

Bashir was made of sin, carnal and sinuous and shockingly unrestrained save for the virtue that screamed out of him like a screech crake, so loudly it was unbearable. Garak was never sure whether the doctor’s presence was mending his fractured soul or shattering it further. It varied from conversation to conversation, really.

And that glimpse of clavicle… Teasing, cruel, framed by a window of purple and blue…

Garak ate his stew to give the illusion of presence, but all his mind wished to know was how Bashir’s clavicle would taste. He had to focus really hard just so he wouldn’t choke on the zabu meat. Garak wondered whether Bashir would ever notice just why he chewed so slowly.

_Don’t look at his clavicle… Just don’t look at it. Look anywhere else._

With great reluctance, Garak tore his eyes away from the tantalizing sight and tried to find Julian’s gaze, only to find Julian absorbed in staring at an apparently fixed point in space.

Just what was Julian looking at?

Garak followed the trajectory of those focused eyes until it landed on his bared wrist. Dismayed, he realized the smattering of scale at the very bottom of the ridge that extended from his elbow was flushed a dark blue, hinting that the trail that led deep under his clothes was much the same.

His first instinct was to hide it away, but the prospect of plastering cold fabric to his already chilled skin was unappealing on just about every conceivable level, when it hit him.

_An eye for an eye, was it?_

With a grumble, he fussed with his sleeve and pulled it up a bit more, so it rested at the midpoint between wrist and elbow. Surreptitiously, he averted his glance to Julian who gulped and looked away.

What an interesting reaction.

Garak smirked. He could work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hee hee, I am having fun with this! Also, now that I have an entire apartment to clean, naturally, I'd rather be doing anything else. Like writing this. Oops.


	3. The Sodden Sleeve

Julian tried to concentrate on his plomeek soup, but even the spice couldn't penetrate the temporary fog that enveloped his mind.

There were _scales_.

The kind he’d only had the chance to glimpse at their first meeting and never again since. He wondered why their first meeting warranted a more open neckline when all the subsequent ones had Garak buttoned up completely. He’d assumed it was the sensitivity to temperature, or some kind of cultural norm that prescribed rigid propriety, but he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the occasion of a first meeting warranted more openness? When it came to actual Cardassian custom, Garak was like a hermetically sealed airlock.

All he knew was that Garak never showed any skin past the wrist. Hell, Julian wasn’t even sure he’d ever _seen_ the man’s wrist before. The sight was so unexpected that he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

How far up did that darkened ridge go? Was it changing color because Garak was cold?

How would it feel to the touch? Was it hard and coarse, or smooth and pliant?

He didn’t know but he had no excuse to reach out and check, so he restrained his curiosity and took another spoonful of his soup. It was then that, by sod’s law, Garak made another displeased noise and rolled his sleeve further up. Julian almost spat out his soup.

Swallowing precipitously, he winced at the way it went down and tried his level best not to cough.

He was only marginally successful.

“So, dear Doctor – have you had the chance to read the works of Iloja of Prim?”

Julian thanked his lucky stars that Garak was so single-minded about their literary discussions and grabbed the offered lifeline.

“Yes, I have! If his work is anything to go by, I think I would prefer you only give me works of exiled artists from now on…”

“Perish the thought!” Garak exclaimed with his usual aplomb. “How could you learn to appreciate the proper, canonical works then?”

Julian groaned internally. He _hated_ the canonical works. He hated them with a passion of a thousand fiery suns going supernova at the same time. There was nothing worse in this universe than Cardassian classics. Julian was fairly certain that the repetitive epic could be weaponized – it certainly bored _him_ half to death. He was honestly running out of ways to convey his dismay. Sure, it was fun to argue with Garak, who had such acrobatic leaps of logic that even his brain failed to properly parse it sometimes, but he just wished they could discuss something they _both_ liked for a change. Was that too much to ask?

“Well, I do like this poetry you gave me,” Julian admitted, “Iloja had a way with words.”

A curious expression flitted across Garak’s face but it was gone so fast that Julian wondered whether he’d imagined it.

“Iloja of Prim certainly has his place in Cardassian literature, even as an exile.”

“Why was he exiled in the first place?” Julian wondered aloud, knowing in advance that Garak would probably get wildly creative with his answer.

And wildly creative in Garak’s case meant – lying through his teeth.

“I would have thought it would have been evident from his poetry, Doctor! Don’t tell me you haven’t picked up on it?”

Ah. A deflection.

That could only mean one thing.

There was something important that Garak was trying to either lead him towards or lead him away from. Julian couldn’t always tell which. Reading Garak was tricky business and an inexact science. Still, Julian liked to believe that he was getting better at it.

The truth was - he liked the challenge. Garak’s mind was like a whetstone Julian could sharpen his wit against. With every exchange, he felt as if on a cusp of some new and exciting discovery. Even though the books were pure torture to wade through.

“I saw nothing against the State in his writing…” Julian trailed off, trying to puzzle it out.

“Interesting… Do you believe only dissension gets people exiled from Cardassia?”

Julian halted at that, feeling his brain freeze for a moment. What did Garak mean by that? Were all dissenters killed? Or were there other, even more benign things one could get kicked out of Cardassia for?

“As far as I know, there could be some arbitrary rule about exiling people for wearing purple on Thursdays!”

Garak snorted.

“Honestly, Doctor, what _are_ you imagining? I see I should give you our legislation to read next, if for no other reason, then to rid you of these fanciful notions.”

“Wouldn’t want me to run afoul of the fashion police?” Julian japed, grinning.

“Oh, yes. Consider yourself reprimanded, seeing how you’re not only wearing purple but also blue on a Thursday.”

“Oh, do I get off with a warning this time?” Julian fired back, only belatedly realizing that his words could be interpreted weirdly. He hoped Garak lacked the context to make the connection.

“Naturally. Next time, I will have to drag you into my back room for some much needed alterations to your wardrobe.”

The supercilious tone was very in character for Garak so Julian merely rolled his eyes.

“Please, you make costumes for me all the time.”

“And dare I say that those costumes are the only clothing you own that actually fits you?”

“That’s not true!” Julian argued. He liked his clothes just fine and there was nothing wrong with them!

Garak offered him a pitying look.

“It is a shame that you refuse to defer to my expertise in this area.”

Julian scoffed and took another spoonful of his soup.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just after my hard-earned credits.”

What was it about Garak that made him want to retort to absolutely everything?

“What else could I _possibly_ want from you, Doctor?” Garak said in a manner that suggested a deeper meaning and Julian felt his brain kicking into overdrive. But before he had a chance to think anything through, his mouth opened and the words spewed out like water from a broken faucet.

"You mean you're no longer interested in all my dirty little secrets? Have you finally discovered everything worth knowing about me?"

And for the hundredth time, Julian cursed his mouth for operating faster than his brain. God knew what Garak was thinking now.

***

Garak didn’t know what to think. Was the good doctor flirting? Had he finally puzzled out Garak’s initial intentions and decided to take things further? Or was he simply being his usual, maddeningly oblivious self?

As if Garak could ever stop being interested. Bashir seemed like an open book, yet every time they spoke, a new detail, a new facet of the darling doctor’s personality came to light and tantalized him with further exploration. And for the first time in a long time, Garak found himself speechless. What could he possibly answer to that? That he wished to know what those clavicles looked like on full display? That he hoped Julian would saunter into his shop one day for a fitting and disrobe before him in the fitting room, his hazel eyes hooded and inviting, smile mischievous and daring?

No, there was no way he could ever discover everything worth knowing about his Julian, unless the human decided to finally take him up on that offer he’d extended when they first met. Garak had been drugged out of his mind then. The memory still held an edge of shame to it, despite the overall feeling of warmth and excruciating yearning. If Bashir had accepted his invitation then, he would have bedded him with relish and then dismissed him, perhaps only finding use for him as an occasional bed-warmer and Federation contact… Instead, he’d managed to ensnare himself in scintillating conversation with one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen. Each subsequent week only made the entanglement worse. The more they spoke and argued, the more pleasurable their interaction, the worse it got. The final nail in the coffin had been the incident with the wire, when Bashir went so far out of his way to save him that Garak had, for a delirious moment, entertained the idea that only a man in love could go so far for another. It was both painful and sobering to find out that Bashir would probably do so for anyone. Instead of breaking his heart, instead of making him abandon his fruitless pursuit, he only admired Bashir’s giving spirit all the more. Instead of finally revealing the depth of his Federation-brand hypocrisy, Julian had proven himself every inch the compassionate and forgiving doctor he claimed to be. The uncommon display of kindness, thus far so very lacking in Garak’s life, cemented the uncomfortable realization that, even if he wanted to stop these feelings from progressing, they had taken root and wouldn’t be so easily dislodged. It was far too late for that.

“Uh, about this poetry, I liked Iloja’s use of imagery. It’s very vivid and immersive.”

Garak hadn’t even realized he’d never responded, compelling the poor doctor to fill the uncomfortable silence. Quashing further wanderings of his overactive imagination, he responded.

“Any images you particularly enjoyed?”

Bashir seemed to perk up at the chance to answer a question, with all the embarrassing zeal of a star pupil desperate to prove himself to a strict teacher.

“I did enjoy the descriptions of the night – _The darkest blue sky, glittering with sapphire stars and caramel sands between my fingers; I close my eyes and let the seas wash over my thighs.”_

Garak’s eyes bulged. Out of all the poems Bashir could have chosen to quote, he’d picked the most explicit one. It would be sad if it wasn’t so exasperating.

“And what do you think this means, Doctor?”

He could see the question caught the poor dear off guard.

It was then that Bashir’s comm bleeped.

“Jabara to Bashir! We have a medical emergency!”

Bashir frowned, tapping the badge a bit forcefully.

“Can’t doctor Girani handle it?”

“They don’t have your expertise with Bolian physiology.”

Bashir sighed, looking both harried and reluctant to be cutting their lunch short. Or so Garak wanted to believe.

“I’m on my way. Bashir out.” With a guilty look, he gazed at Garak with his big apologetic eyes. “I’m so sorry, Garak.”

“It’s no matter,” Garak waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, “Duty calls.”

“Same time next week?” Julian inquired hopefully.

As if Garak would ever say no to that.

“Of course.”

“I promise not to wear purple and blue next Thursday!” Julian joked and all but flew to the reclamator to shove his mostly-finished meal into the reclamation unit.

Good, Garak thought. Once was more than enough.

Besides, he wasn’t sure he could survive another encounter.


	4. The Ripped Shirt

Garak was nearing the end of his shift in the shop. Half a time unit left until closing time and some well-deserved rest for his cramping fingers. The crick in his neck wasn't helping matters any, either. Perhaps it would be prudent to replicate himself some painkillers, but then he wouldn't have enough credits to trade for information. He wasn't sure why he was even trying anymore, half of it was unreliable hearsay that he needed to spend half his nights checking up on. He was sending anything useful back to Cardassia through his dwindling sources, but none of it seemed to make even the slightest bit of difference. Still, exile or not, there was no way Elim Garak would abandon his homeland. One served Cardassia first, always. That lesson had sunk in far too well for him to be changing his ways now. He had never been disloyal to Cardassia or Tain. Not where it truly mattered. His romantic entanglements shouldn't be grounds for dismissal from service and exile, but he supposed that Tain was enraged over having to smoothe over the mess he'd made of Lokar's death. Garak knew that must have cost Tain a lot of favors that may have been better cashed in at some other point, for some worthier goal. Then there was the matter of scuttling Tain's ambitions of installing him as his successor. Exile was better than a summary execution, at least.

He was used to suffering his loneliness in silence. The niggling thought about never meeting Bashir had he played his cards right in the first place was dismissed.

He couldn't imagine never having gotten involved with Palandine. For better or worse, he didn't regret that part. He wasn't even particularly remorseful over the fact he'd killed her husband. Barkan Lokar was an unfaithful, corrupt piece of gettle excrement that didn't deserve either his status or his wife and daughter, both far brighter than him. Garak only regretted his lack of discretion which led to Barkan assaulting Palandine and then capturing him for torture. Still... Being underestimated was such a useful skill, a skill Garak knew Barkan had never learned, the privileged fool. He wielded his family status, wealth and privilege very effectively, and thus had no need for tools used by his inferiors. The thought of besting him in the end filled Garak with a morbid sense of vindication and a vicious sort of pride.

Sadly, it seemed he'd only traded one kind of longing for another.

Bashir was at least not enjoined to anyone (yet). In a way, this was worse. With Palandine, he got to do more than just admire her wit. The Doctor only left him craving more. It was more agonizing than those juvenile years when he admired Palandine from afar. Then, he'd known just how unattainable she was. Her world was not meant for the likes of him.

Bashir was much the same, a creature of untarnished light, every inch the unattainable ideal that Palandine was. His beauty was different, but no less devastating for it. Garak wondered what was it about goodness wrapped in a pleasant exterior that drew him inexorably, irresistibly closer to such individuals. Was it just the void in him calling out for people who radiated virtue with every breath and every word? Was it a longing to be accepted by them or to become more like them?

He wasn't sure and that was disquieting, for every time his mind explored these tracks, he felt himself losing his sense of detachment and functionality. His burdens got more pronounced and harder to ignore.

Perhaps he should resent Bashir for the weakness he fostered within his ordered Cardassian soul.

Still, Julian's voice was clearer and more enticing than the chants of the Oralian Way. In his presence, Garak's omnipresent feeling of unworthiness faltered, flickering ever fainter until he could no longer feel it like a jagged splinter embedded too deep for extraction.

It always came back with a vengeance the moment the warmth of their lunches dissipated.

Three days to their usual weekly appointment.

Was it pitiful to await them so eagerly? Sometimes he thought so. It was kind of pathetic, wasn’t it – to count the days until a perfectly platonic lunch appointment? Well, platonic on one side, anyways.

Garak sighed in disappointment over his entrenched sentimentality and went back to his seams.

“…those bloody birds, Julian! Pay attention next time, Quark’s evening slots cost a fortune!”

Garak’s ears immediately perked up at the mention of Julian’s name. O’Brien’s dulcet tones were unwelcome, but where one was, the other usually followed. By the sound of things, their evening holosuite adventure had been cut short. He could hear Julian’s tinkling laughter from where he was sitting and hated the fluttery feeling in his gut that sprang up the moment he recognized the owner of the voice. How fucking inconvenient.

“Aww, I’m sorry Miles, I’ll pay you back – I promise!”

“Getting shot in the engine within first five minutes and having to deploy my parachute is not my idea of fun, Julian!”

Once more, Julian’s hearty laughter could be heard, this time even clearer. Garak realized they’d stopped in front of his shop for their conversation.

“It’s not my fault Quark doesn’t allow restarting the programs if they get completed early!”

The Chief grumbled something under his breath which might have been a string of expletives, but they were too muffled for Garak’s hearing to pick up.

“I still need a pint!” O’Brien complained and Bashir soothed him.

“Order one, my treat. I will just pop in and see if Garak can fix this shirt before I join you, ok?”

“Fine! Don’t take too long, I promised Keiko I’d be home by ten.”

“Scout’s honor!” Julian promised and finally entered his shop. Garak pretended to only notice him once he was near his table.

“Oh! What a pleasant surprise, Doctor! What may I do for you?”

Those hazel eyes gleamed warmly in the dimmer illumination of his shop.

“We had a little mishap in our holoadventure tonight. It turns out that parachuting from a burning plane is a bit hazardous to one’s clothing.”

“Let’s assess the damage, hmm?” Garak offered and looked Julian over.

The jacket seemed mostly untouched, and the trousers as well – nothing a little cleaning couldn’t fix, but then his gaze fell onto the jacket that Bashir had unfastened, revealing a long tear down his abdomen.

“It snagged on a branch on my way down – I’m really sorry Garak, I know you worked hard to make it for me… Can it be salvaged? I mean, it’s not so bad, right?” With that, the doctor parted the fabric like a little curtain to show off the afflicted area, but all that managed to do was make Garak curse himself for being caught off-guard by the sliver of flat abdomen displayed utterly shamelessly. He was torn between the desire to stare at the unwitting offering and the inner sense of self-preservation begging him to tear his eyes away and keep them trained on something safe and suitably un-arousing.

Was this how Iloja felt while reaching for his exotic lovers? How utterly debauched.

Unaware, Garak reached his hand forward to grasp the fabric and stopped himself from breaching that last centimeter of space. Bashir’s stomach radiated heat and Garak’s mind flooded with images of his grey hand pressed flat against that firm plane, drinking in the heat and the softness of that unblemished human skin…

“Are you angry with me?” Julian asked softly, his eyes beseeching and earnest, almost as if he was apologizing for the inconvenience.

Garak was startled by the astuteness of that observation.

The truth was, he _was_ angry.

He should be angry at the waste of a perfectly good shirt that he was proud of making, because it flattered the body it rested upon so marvelously and would now no longer be as immaculate once he stitched it back together – the weave was forever ruined. Bashir may not notice or care, but Garak would be able to see the difference. He should be angry at Bashir’s casual cruelty that stemmed from his obliviousness, the cruelty that enabled him to display himself for Garak despite having no intention of following through with what he was offering. And he should be angry at the innocent eyes that were currently begging for forgiveness for whatever perceived slight their owner might have inflicted by giving his busy tailor more work.

Instead, he was angry at himself for holding back while every scale screamed for physical contact, even now flushing a hopelessly dark blue, signaling interest that mattered not one bit. He ached to pull Bashir closer by the scruff of his shirt and reprimand him for wasting his time and trampling on his heart. He wanted to splay his fingers against that coppery stomach and slide them deeper under the fabric, until those luscious smiling lips parted with a gasp and uttered his name breathlessly like a prayer.

Every fiber of his being burned with desire and he had to use every last ounce of willpower instilled in him by years of training and self-discipline to stay away.

“Doctor, you really should stop being so careless with your possessions…” Garak reprimanded, willing his anger to abate. It wasn’t Julian’s fault.

“You haven’t answered my question, Garak.” Julian reminded softly, taking a step closer which brought Garak’s knuckles into unanticipated contact with silken skin. What happened next made him cringe.

Shocked by the intimacy of Julian’s proximity, his fingers unclenched, the fabric fluttering through his fingers which unfurled and instinctively pushed outwards to defend him from the intrusion into his personal space.

This meant, naturally, that his bare palm was currently pressed into scalding hot skin. Skin whose owner was currently gasping, making the muscles beneath his palm flutter and flex. Gaze glued to Bashir’s face, Garak noted the moment the human’s brain screeched to a halt.

This was the perfect opportunity to gauge Julian’s response. How amenable would he be to something less than platonic? After all, how much longer could Garak be expected to resist such intrusions into his hard-earned sense of calm?

“Is that what you think?” Garak uttered, in the most daring, most insinuating tone he could muster under the circumstances. “That I _hate_ you?”

He relished the sharp intake of breath and kept his palm where it rested comfortably, allowing himself the indulgence of splaying his fingers across the now subtly heaving abdomen. Julian shuddered under his touch. The little whimper torn from that usually so loquacious mouth filled Garak’s mind with pleasurable possibilities.

“Cat got your tongue, Doctor?” Garak wheedled, noting the furious flush to Julian’s cheeks. He could swear that the human felt even warmer now. It made him want to come even closer.

It made him…

_Want._

“Garak… Uh…” Julian stammered fetchingly and Garak merely tilted his head.

“Yes?”

“Can you fix it then? Or is it unsalvageable?”

“Oh, the shirt is eminently salvageable, worry not.”

Whether his sanity was salvageable, that was still very much in question.

“Oh, good. Great!” Bashir seemed to be scrambling for some sense of normalcy. Garak took pity and extended a lifeline.

“Why don’t you go change in the back room and let me mend it? I will loan you one of the items for sale so you don’t have to keep your friend waiting.”

“Really?” Julian brightened, his flush lamentably gone. “That’s so thoughtful of you, Garak!”

Garak doubted very much that Julian wanted to know where his thoughts were straying.

“Let me fetch you something in your size.” Garak said reasonably and withdrew his palm from Bashir’s firm stomach. To his surprise, the subtle drag of fingertips marking his retreat made Julian shiver.

Garak strode across his store to a clothing rack, searching for the item he had in mind. Most men wouldn’t be able to fit into this particular size, as it was intended for the lanky youth (all usually well younger than one Julian Bashir). About a metric later, he found a forest-green shirt with a modest Cardassian neckline that could pass for casual-wear and turned around, intending to give it to Julian only to be greeted by the sight of the man’s utterly bare back.

He froze like a regnar in the glare and stared.

Bashir was trying to kill him. There was no other explanation.

This was a declaration of war.

And if Julian wanted war…

Garak would give him one.


	5. The Low-Cut Tunic

Garak was speechless. Utterly speechless. Mila would have snickered. She'd often accused him that he never shut up and complained she'd pay whoever taught her the secret to making him quiet a small fortune. Well, it was good she didn't have a lithe half-unclothed Julian Bashir on hand.

This was utterly mortifying.

“Oh, thank you!” Julian said completely unselfconsciously, snatched the green shirt out of Garak’s unresponsive hands and disappeared into the changing room.

Garak watched him leave with mounting indignation.

How dare he??

So brazen, so open, so… Ugh!

And when Bashir re-emerged, freshly garbed into a shirt that fit him as if had been made for him, Garak realized he hadn’t moved from his spot.

“I’ll return it when I swing by tomorrow, say, after my shift? Would that be all right?”

Garak merely tilted his head numbly in what he hoped passed for gracious acknowledgement.

Bashir had the _audacity_ to saunter out of his shop with the leather jacket flung over his shoulder, disgustingly chipper and entirely unaware of the havoc he'd wrought.

Fuming and humiliated, Garak resolved to up his game.

It was time to show Bashir what _true_ skill at seduction looked like.

***

Garak spent a good portion of that day and the following night altering one of his more flattering ensembles – a scandalously low-cut blue tunic with velvet black piping around the revealing neckline and slimming, perfectly tailored seams that made his waist look like he wasn't a day over thirty. The tunic was also shorter than his usual fare, revealing things he usually kept hidden for reasons of warmth and comfort. And concealing weaponry.

If this didn't turn Bashir's head, then his only further option would be to offer himself up for a full physical.

By all accounts, a fate best avoided.

There was only so much humiliation he was willing to endure.

Still, as he gazed at his silhouette, he couldn't help but heave a wistful sigh. If only he were a decade younger – impressing Bashir would have been easier. Sure, he may _look_ like he let himself go by human standards but he was still strong. It was only his waistline that had gone slightly soft, a thing he'd noticed wasn't considered particularly attractive by human standards. On Cardassia, that would be an indicator that he was reasonably well off, which was a good thing in a prospective mate. To humans, who lived in a post-scarcity society that had sworn off money, it was entirely irrelevant.

At least he was fairly certain that Bashir fully appreciated his intelligence and wit.

That and the fact Bashir's eyes damn near fell out of his head during last week's lunch when he'd pulled his sleeve up. Maybe this would finally open Julian to the possibility of...

No, best not go there.

Garak was doing this to prove a point.

Nothing more.

As he tossed a glance at his chronometer, he observed it was just about time for Bashir's shift to be ending. Garak straightened out and gave himself one last critical look.

He hadn't blued his forehead because he didn't want to appear too eager. The outfit spoke volumes already, there was no reason to signal his availability additionally. It would seem a touch desperate – and he wasn't desperate.

Nope.

Definitely not.

So what if his trousers were a shade tighter than his usual fare? And his hair more glossy? And if he'd chosen to wear a dab of perfume, that was his prerogative – not a sign of desperation.

He flitted about the shop, straightening clothes on the racks and adding little touches to his displays, watching and waiting for Bashir to arrive with the shirt he'd borrowed. Finally, some ten metrics later, Garak caught familiar movement out of the corner of his eye.

He straightened out, hoping his ridges weren't flushed yet. For once he was grateful for the cold environment – that should slow any pesky darkening of his scales, at least a little bit.

As Julian stepped into the shop, the shirt neatly folded on his arm, Garak took him in.

Damn it all, even in his uniform, the man was a vision.

Garak pretended to be absorbed in his task but kept careful watch from behind his mannequin.

“Hello, Garak are you – oh! There you a-“

Garak stepped forward with grace and pretended everything was business as usual.

“Where else would I be, my dear Doctor?”

Bashir’s mouth went slack. Garak smirked and savored his moment of triumph.

“I see you’ve brought back my merchandise, thank you.”

With that, he set about exctricating the garment from Julian’s momentarily frozen arms and lingered in his personal space for just long enough to let his perfume fill the air. Julian gulped.

With a devious smile, Garak turned on his heel to store the garment in its proper place and when he was just about done there was a clatter behind him.

He turned to the source of the sound slightly alarmed, only to witness Bashir hastily picking up the intruments he’d accidentally knocked off his table by having leaned on it absent-mindedly.

Or distractedly.

“Do be careful, Doctor – those are my livelihood.”

“Ye-yes, sorry! How clumsy of me, uh, if I broke something I will pay for it! Or ask the Chief to repair it, I’m sure he could…”

Oh, Garak had no doubt that O’Brien was capable of fixing whatever came loose by being knocked to the floor due to Bashir’s carelessness, but Garak currently had no interest in that. He was much more interested in understanding why Bashir was so flustered.

Garak forestalled any further stammered apologies by grasping Bashir’s arms gently.

“I am sure my instruments are perfectly fine.”

Bashir nodded, apparently not trusting himself to speak.

“Now, am I correct in assuming you are free for the remainder of the evening?”

“Uh, yes. Yes I am. Why?”

Why was Bashir so infuriatingly charming when confused?

“This has been a rather slow day, as no new ships have docked since yesterday, so I was thinking of closing the shop early and inviting you for a drink? You do owe me an in-depth discussion on Iloja of Prim, after all.”

Bashir blinked a few times, his eyes straying lower and cleared his throat, likely in an attempt to also clear his foggy mind. Garak wondered whether he’d made a terrible miscalculation by not revealing more of himself sooner. His darling Doctor was clearly having trouble marshalling his wits at the moment.

“I thought I’d catch up on some medical journals but… a quick drink wouldn’t hurt. Quark’s?”

Garak had been inclined to invite Bashir to his quarters, but reconsidered. Perhaps that would be too bold.

“Of course!” He said genially instead, and placed his hand on the small of Bashir’s back to guide him out of the shop.

“I, uh…” Bashir stammered. “Are you sure you won’t be cold?”

Garak looked at him sharply. Was this a statement purely out of concern - medical or friendly? He dared not hope it could be jealousy. If their places were switched, he _would_ be jealous, especially if they weren’t in a relationship. The thought of everyone seeing Julian disrobed was unsettling. Despite having no right to it, Garak felt it was a privilege best left to him alone.

Seeing stolen glimpses felt illicit and thrilling, but Garak would far prefer for Julian to come to him willingly.

“This garment is lined with silk, I assure you it retains heat most effectively.”

“Oh.” Bashir murmured. “Well, you know best.”

Garak hummed in satisfaction and walked along the Promenade with Bashir. Head held high, he did his best to ignore the hushed whispers and pointed stares of the Bajorans scattered everywhere. As the sole Cardassian occupant, he was the sole focus of their ire and resentment despite having had literally nothing to do with their plight. He was surprised Dukat hasn’t been assassinated yet, with how often he liked to drop by his old fiefdom. The Bajorans absolutely despised him (and rightly so). Then again, one didn’t have to be Bajoran to abhor Dukat. Garak was proof of that.

After all, Dukat had the singular talent of making himself utterly detestable.

He was the reason why most Bajorans saw Cardassians as sexual predators and _that_ was reason enough for Garak to resent him.

Bashir kept stealing furtive glances at him the entire way through. A part of Garak was revolted by the immediacy of his response to that. Like some inexperienced youth, he was positively basking in the attention. So what if nothing came of it all? At least he would always have this memory of feeling desireable, walking next to the man he-

What an utterly depressing thought.

Garak was tired of savoring old memories like a gettle gnawing on an old bone, dreaming of the taste of fresh marrow. He was tired of having to sift through his memories and filtering them until a drop of untainted goodness was wrung out for him to sustain himself on. These days it felt like barely wetting his chapped lips.

He knew he was undeserving but that didn’t stop the craving. It didn’t stop the need.

And it definitely didn’t stop the way his mind and soul thrummed with life whenever Julian was near.

Resolved to shelve his maudlin thoughts for after the inevitable rejection, he focused on the here and now. They were almost at the threshold of Quark’s bar. As always, it was noisy and vibrant. He was glad to see that the outfits he’d made for Quark’s staff were doing their job. Despite what the Ferengi had wanted, Garak had made sure the girls were comfortable in their dabo outfits and that the garments didn’t reveal anything they minded revealing. Naturally, they were smart enough not to tell Quark that. Garak was entirely unsurprised to find that most of them were way smarter than the Ferengi gave them credit for.

“Shall we go to the upper level, Doctor?” Garak suggested and Julian nodded vigorously.

“I will bring our orders up, kanar for you?”

Garak wondered why Julian wanted to play waiter all of a sudden but couldn’t find a plausible reason to protest it, so he acquisced.

“Quark knows which one I like. And he knows if he dilutes it, I will file a _very_ vocal complaint. Feel free to remind him, I find he needs reminding every now and again. After all, it’s in his nature to give into greed against his best judgment sometimes.”

Julian gives him a rakish grin that suggests he doesn’t believe him one bit but is entertained by his lies regardless.

Garak is very glad that Julian has absolutely no idea what his tacit approval does to him.

The notion that he could be loved despite his many flaws, despite his dark past… It’s more than a little intoxicating.

The grand irony was – the more time he spent with Bashir, the more he loved him. Simultaneously, the more he enjoyed the Doctor’s goodness, the worse he felt about himself. In contrast with someone like Bashir, Garak’s flaws were only made more apparent.

That didn’t stop him from reaching out, time and time again. It seemed he was far too deep to extricate himself now. Bashir had been a perfectly honeyed trap.

“I’ll be right up,” Julian promised and turned around, heading for the bar.

Shaking himself mentally, Garak got onto the spiral staircase, hoping the kanar and the good Doctor’s company would soon dispel his darkening mood.

***

Julian was beyond relieved when Garak turned around.

He wondered who Garak was trying to seduce by displaying himself so audaciously. He looked around the bar with a suspicious eye. Was there some poor sucker in this crowd that Garak was planning to assasinate? Nothing would surprise Julian at this point. A Garak who behaved so openly out of the norm was definitely a cause for alarm.

“Garak’s _really_ outdone himself this time, hasn’t he?” Quark said with a leer and Julian did a double take.

“I beg your pardon?”

Quark rolled his eyes and swung his rag in the general direction of a Dabo girl that was passing near the starwell Garak was currently ascending.

“Look at those hips, mmm,” The Ferengi trailed off and Julian’s eyes drifted from the girl’s to Garak. His mouth went dry. “Like two stout, juicy snails…”

Unable to help it, Julian made a disgusted face. Quark didn’t seem to notice and leaned conspiratorially into Julian’s personal space, muttering:

“And the spice rack isn’t half bad either!” He kept chuckling, his pointy teeth flashing with undisguised covetousness.

“There’s more to a person than their _assets_ , Quark.” Julian admonished, his eyes drifting back to a pair of tightly fitting trousers…

Damn it, Garak _had_ outdone himself.

“Nonsense, Doctor! What would be the point in acquiring them otherwise?”

Julian’s gaze was trailing upwards, taking in the slimming fit of the shortest tunic he’d ever seen on Garak. It wasn’t even a tunic, really, more of a shirt. A shirt that had an even lower cut in the back than it did in the front. And that was really unfair, because everywhere he looked, there was more to map and memorize. Quite cruel, really. How was he supposed to focus on one feature when so many were in full view?

“Unless you are a fan of other features, Doctor? What is it? Hands? Big ears? Noses?”

Unmindful of where he was, his mouth decided to blurt out an observation that really shouldn’t have left the confines of his mind.

“That’s a nice back…”

Quark laughed.

“Oh yes, her species has some quite _decorative_ patterns on their backs. I heard they glow under ultraviolet light? Perhaps I should install some…”

While Quark schemed, Julian found his brain stuck in the same gear.

Decorative back… It rather was, wasn’t it?

The ridges seemed to continue down the slope of his shoulders, extending down his back as scales that looked almost chiseled, like some ancient bas relief that had been baking in the sun for a few thousand years – slightly weathered but still discernible. He wondered about the texture…

“I like the texture, very airy, very smooth.” Quark observed.

“Looks coarse to me,” Julian murmured.

“Oh, no,” Quark chimed in. “I assure you, it’s quite soft!”

Julian twitched and realized he and Quark were _not_ talking about the same thing. While Quark was still waxing poetic about the outfits Garak had made for the Dabo girls, Julian had been admiring the tailor himself.

Didn’t Garak usually look… Different?

His silhouette was different.

Was he wearing some kind of corset?

“So, what will it be, Doctor?” Quark prompted.

Julian shook his head, swatting away errant thoughts.

“Uh, give me a glass of kanar, the kind Garak likes – _undiluted_ , if you please, and I will have an I’danian Sunset.”

Quark gave him a look but then shrugged, reaching behind the bar for the bottles he needed.

When Julian turned towards the spiral staircase, he cursed under his breath. Garak had gone out of sight.

Julian was honor bound to keep an eye on Garak to foil any attempted plot by the sneaky Cardassian spy.

To do any less would be a dereliction of his duty as a Starfleet Officer.

Definitely.

It had absolutely _nothing_ to do with that damnably tight outfit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you had fun, as always, I eagerly await your thoughts! 
> 
> Also, stay safe. The world is mad.


	6. The Unfastened Uniform

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, we die like Cardassians holding their lines.
> 
> Also, the tunic Garak is wearing? I managed to draw it half-decently, so here we go-

Garak chanced a look at the Doctor and promptly regretted it. A half-dazed expression trailing after one of the Dabo girls, with Quark saying something undoubtedly crass and lascivious in his ear was enough to send his already sombre mood into a thundering downward spiral.

Who was he kidding?

Garak liked to believe that he was not an idiot. In life, he learned his lessons well. How to survive, how to get out of difficult situations, how to cut his losses.

Bashir was fast becoming a lost battle. Not that Garak didn’t know that, ever since Bashir opened his mouth to passionately rebuke him during one of their first lunches together. The alluring innocent he’d wanted to bed evolved from a beautiful specimen into an intriguing companion, one Garak couldn’t bear to part with.

Garak had tried to excise Bashir.

From his thoughts.

From his heart.

Repeatedly, persistently and to his eternal shame - unsuccessfully.

His defeat was so complete that not even the wire - not even his mind caught in the agony of withdrawal had been able to push Julian away.

He chided himself for not speaking the truth then. If he’d told Julian just how deeply tainted he was, how many people he had broken and left to their fate… If he’d been honest, Julian might’ve stayed away for good.

But Garak hadn’t wanted that. Even at his most desperate, most cynical – cutting Julian away proved impossible.

That was why even now, faced with the inescapable truth of Julian’s interest in bodies far younger, suppler and decidedly female – Garak knew he could never abandon his fruitless sentimentality. As always, he would take what he could – scraps if need be. He was pragmatic and he’d been taught to get by on little.

Little to no affection.

Little sustenance.

Little love.

Whatever Bashir deigned to give, Garak would gratefully accept.

To another, that would be mere crumbs – a warm smile, a gentle hand squeezing his arm softly, a pair of twinkling eyes that spoke volumes about the rich inner world hidden behind an endearingly awkward exterior.

To Garak, even the crumbs were almost unbearably potent.

Crumbs they may be – mere shadows of a banquet reflected in a mirror, beautiful and out of reach. Yet Garak could see each meticulously crafted dish, smell the delicious aromas warming the air in a haze of swirling steam, and admire the artistically constructed confections arrayed neatly in a pleasant display.

So what if Garak was but watching the feast from afar?

So what if he could identify each ingredient with perfect accuracy?

So what if someone else got to sample the delicacies?

It was he who knew everything about this feast, and to a weaker man, that thought would be unbearable.

Garak was filled with gratitude instead.

Having Bashir’s affection and friendship was more valuable than a dozen flings, mistresses or comfort women. It was more meaningful than having an ally in the profession who would have your back as long as your interests aligned. It had more weight than a family member who only had expectations yet never gave anything in return.

Bashir was almost _indecently_ giving. His friendship was genuine and effusive. It wasn’t veiled or insinuated - it wasn’t conditional.

In a way, it was the most stable and rewarding relationship Garak ever had. So what if it didn’t extend to the sexual realm? If Bashir told him he would stay by his side and the only condition would be never to touch him again, Garak would accept in a heartbeat.

All those who looked at Julian and found him lacking, clearly weren’t capable of seeing his worth. It was the height of irony that the only person who loved Bashir completely would be the one Bashir was least likely to love in return.

It seemed Quark had finally stopped wasting time and handed Julian the drinks. Garak took a deep breath and steeled himself. In approximately three quarters of a metric, Julian would emerge from the spiral staircase and it wouldn’t do for him to see Garak discomposed.

Once again, Garak was glad that his turmoil rarely showed on his face.

“One kanar, as promised!” Julian exclaimed happily, so proud to have been of service that Garak wanted to weep. Of all the individuals Garak had met, Julian was one of the very few that actually deserved to be served.

Oh, how gladly he would serve – if only Julian-

“Thank you, Doctor. You are most kind.” Garak said and daintily took the proffered glass.

Their fingers brushed.

Another stolen touch.

Another crumb.

Garak gulped.

Julian laughed.

“I just brought our orders up; it’s not even worth mentioning!”

Garak was sometimes exasperated how any creature could be so oblivious to its own worth. Julian was unmatched in his virtue, and his charming naivete only made Garak feel protective of him. Julian was simply too exquisite to harm, like the rarest of orchids growing in the inhospitable depths of the Ba’aten rainforest.

He watched Julian slide into the seat opposite, as energetic as ever, with a colorful drink to match. A deep dusky gradient of purple fading into the faintest pink, no doubt a revoltingly zesty and bubbly beverage, much like the man himself.

Bashir was busy staring over the railing, no doubt ogling that silly, mostly uncovered Dabo girl. It was disheartening in the extreme and Garak felt like a courtship candidate whose gifts had been rejected.

_He is not yours_ , Garak reminded himself. _He never was_.

The banquet was exquisite, but Garak was growing weary of being forced to watch as others laughed around the table, got their hands sticky and left so many things unsampled.

It was a waste.

Julian was wasted on this rabble.

Garak knew his mind well – dark thoughts only invited more dark thoughts, swirling together until they turned destructive. It wasn’t even envy that rendered him so bitter – it was the knowledge that Bashir was so desperate for a connection that he would give his boundless heart to just about any girl that offered him a kind word, even if it was painfully obvious that they were incompatible and had no future.

Not that Garak had much more to offer.

Everything he would be willing to give, Bashir would balk at.

Garak would kill for him.

Die to protect him.

He would even live, if only to preserve the energy the dear Doctor put into saving his worthless life.

None of that would go over well if voiced, so Garak kept quiet.

The silence did nothing to make the sentiment weaken.

“Thinking of your medical journals again, Doctor?”

The caustic remark jolted Julian out of his reverie. Mossy green eyes widened, fell on his neckline and after a breathless moment, unglued from the sight and fixed themselves firmly on Garak’s face. Julian’s skin flushed an unusual hue.

“No, I… That would be rude. As you said, I owe you a discussion regarding Iloja of Prim.”

Garak narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. Why did that sound like Bashir was grasping at a lifeline?

“A significant debt, Doctor.” Garak stated, wondering whether Bashir was feeling chastised for being caught staring at girls while in company.

Julian’s gaze wandered lower once more before he coughed and ducked his face into his glass, taking a little sip.

“Go on, Doctor – you have my undivided attention.”

Another sip and Bashir put his drink back down, long fingers playing absentmindedly with the dewy condensation covering the glass. His delicate pink tongue chased the taste of the drink across his lower lip. Garak exerted significant mental effort to sit as straight as possible.

“Well, judging from your reaction last time, I was left with the impression that my reading of Iloja’s work was overly simplistic.”

Despite the insufferable democratic bent to most of Bashir’s interpretations, Garak thought the dear Doctor usually did rather well for himself. Not that he would go out of his way to express that. Julian craved praise, but when he was guided to draw his conclusions after looking at an issue from multiple perspectives and Garak favored him with an approving smile, Julian would positively glow with a sense of accomplishment. Watching his lunch companion’s perceptions expand and refine further filled Garak with pride. He wouldn’t flatter Bashir – he would teach him up to a point where external praise would become unnecessary.

Garak dreamed of the day when Julian would finally be comfortable in his skin and know the exact measure of his considerable worth. Even if that day seemed far off.

Garak affected a sigh.

“We all have to start from somewhere, dear Doctor. As long as there is a willingness to learn…”

There – a bashful smile, so sweet and warm.

For a moment, Garak could comfort himself with the fact that no woman could provoke such a smile from Bashir. It was all his doing – his alone.

Even if those long fingers trailed down skin other than his.

“Well, I must admit I’ve had a thought… though I am fairly certain you’ll only end up laughing at my inept attempts to decipher Cardassian poetry.”

“Now, now… I would be a poor companion if I let your delightful mind go unchallenged.”

This earned him a wider smile, accompanied by a flash of teeth.

It was so easy to make Julian happy.

“All right,” Bashir squirmed in his seat, tucking a leg under himself. It was an endearing habit Garak didn’t know the origin of, but saw no reason to bring attention to. “Iloja’s poetry seems devoid of the usual glorification of the State, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable to conclude that that might have been the point of contention.”

Garak rolled his eyes.

“An over-simplified view, my dear Doctor. Why do I get the impression that you believe Cardassians incapable of writing about universal ideals and values?”

“Well, of course they are capable!” Bashir defended himself, “Iloja wrote about the beauty of nature!”

“Did he?” Garak remarked mysteriously.

This made Bashir pause.

That’s what Garak loved about him – he needed so little to steer him in the right direction. Bashir had an intellect that was a remarkable hybrid of logical and intuitive. Seeing it in action brought Garak considerable pleasure.

“Are you telling me… That it’s allegorical?”

Garak offered naught but an insinuating smirk.

“If you tell me it’s all an allegory about being a good citizen, I’ll-“ Bashir trailed off only to let out an aggravated huff.

Garak chuckled.

“If it was, he wouldn’t have gotten exiled, isn’t that so?”

“So…” Julian muttered, caressing his glass in a fashion Iloja himself would have loved to immortalize, “He uses description of nature to glorify… something.”

“Oh yes.” Garak said in an obscenely leading way.

“And it’s not the Union.”

Garak grinned.

“Not _that_ kind of union, certainly…”

Julian inhaled sharply, his lovely mouth going slack with surprise or realization – or both.

How very _interesting_ …

***

Julian wanted to take refuge in his glass.

Or in the infirmary, engrossed in a nice, five hundred page treatise on obscure bacterial infections – something nice and technical to wipe his mind from the entirely inappropriate thoughts that popped up uninvited.

He hadn’t seen anything obscene in Iloja’s poetry until…

Curse Garak for wearing this revealing outfit today of all days! How could he be expected to produce a serious literary analysis when all he could think about were Iloja’s many descriptions of sapphire eyes and azure rivers; of clear blue skies and soft sandy beaches – now inconveniently superimposed with the image of Garak dressed in this, this…

He was sure there was something subversive in the poetry now, but surely – _surely_ not this.

Ugh. Just look at that revealed clavicle, mirroring the spoon from Garak’s forehead. He wondered, was that shape repeated elsewhere on a Cardassian’s body? Perhaps… Perhaps somewhere lower…

Perhaps-

He felt a betraying blush rising in his cheeks and raised his eyes guiltily to meet the admonishment or amusement he would no doubt find in Garak’s gaze.

Oh, God.

Why did Garak look so damned _pleased_?

Julian cursed his overactive imagination for providing lewd context where none existed. Gosh, is this how Garak looked when he was a young operative? All sleek and lethal? Graceful, poised to strike, with a face that could convey the full range from angelic to devilish?

Fuck.

He was starting to perspire in his uniform in a way that not even a full shift in the Infirmary managed.

Were the environmental controls broken here? That would be just like Quark. No doubt a spare component was taken to replace some broken bit of a holosuite. God forbid the man lost a sliver of latinum!

Damn it, _say something Julian!_

“Uh, what else can _union_ refer to?”

Garak’s grin was downright sinful. Julian swallowed.

“You have an equivalent term in your own language, Doctor. Surely I needn’t spell it out for you?”

Union?

Unification.

Unity.

Unifying.

Merging.

Two things becoming one.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_

Garak _knew._

There was no way he didn’t know, not with Julian blushing like a hopelessly smitten schoolgirl. Half the time, Julian was sure the man could read minds. And Julian was also certain that he was currently _painfully_ transparent. His thoughts were firmly in the gutter.

“Go on, Doctor.” Garak prompted, “Voice your conclusion.”

Which conclusion would that be?? That Iloja of Prim was secretly a raging xenophile?

Nope, there was no way in hell Julian would say _that_ to Garak’s infuriatingly smug face! As if the man needed more fodder for ridicule.

Besides, ascribing his private thoughts and personal preferences to a man long dead seemed highly disrespectful.

Why was it so bloody hot in here??

Harried, Julian rolled up his sleeves and took a swig of his drink. Damn Garak’s expectant eyes and that accursed knowing smile!

“I am sure I got it wrong, never mind.” Julian attempted to dismiss the issue but Garak persisted.

“No, no. We are debating literature, dear Doctor. You are entitled to your interpretation.”

Julian snorted. If he was entitled to his opinions, why did Garak always gleefully tear them to shreds?

“I wouldn’t wish to offend.” Julian said cautiously, hoping against hope that just this once, Garak would relent.

“Come now, Doctor – where’s your sense of adventure?”

Damn it.

Julian felt cornered. This was a challenge. A challenge only Garak could issue – so perfectly crafted that it was impossible to resist it.

Biting his lip, Julian tried to assess the odds of Garak laughing in his face. They weren’t nonexistent.

Oh, what the hell. It wouldn’t be the first time. In a way, just blurting it out would be a relief because then it would be done and he could stop agonizing over it.

And over how sharp Garak looked.

Still, it wouldn’t do to be too blunt about it – Garak hated blunt and forward. The more circumspect, the better.

“My sense of adventure is perfectly fine, Garak.” Julian said haughtily. “And if I didn’t know any better, I would say that Iloja was writing about romance – divorced of any notion of serving the State or the family.”

Garak laughed in a delighted manner, a kind of laugh that Julian secretly described as devious.

“If that was all it was, Doctor, Iloja would have been dismissed as a sentimental fool and not lauded as a dangerous visionary.”

“So he _was_ exiled over having differing political opinions?”

Garak gave him a gently admonishing look.

“He advocated for a more… _open_ Cardassia.”

Julian choked on his drink.

Open…

Open Cardassia.

His head swam.

As open as this neckline?

God, why was it so sweltering here, he’d have to file a complaint with Quark. Or better yet, go directly to Rom – everyone knew he was the one who kept Quark’s in business. Well, everyone save Rom himself.

“How open are we talking?” Julian asked and caught himself leaning across the table.

Garak leaned in as well and tilted his head minutely, giving him a side-look that was so suggestive Julian thought his uniform would catch fire.

“ _Very_ open.”

_Shit._

Julian’s mind flooded with images of Cardassian hands caressing dusky skin, slowly and deliberately.

“So… Iloja advocated for…” Julian trailed off, “accepting foreign… values?”

Garak did laugh then, a deep, reverberating laughter – the kind that made Julian feel like he was in deep trouble.

“Oh, Iloja was rumored to be _most_ accepting.”

Julian was shocked by the blatant innuendo. Garak was usually more subtle than that. Well, that was the first thought Julian had. The second, far more damning one, was that Garak was playing with him, likely amused by his graceless flundering.

His suspicions were proven correct when Garak leaned in even closer, lips stretched wide in a playful smile.

“Then there are the scandalous rumors…”

At this point, Julian could do nothing but take the bait.

“What kind of rumors?”

Garak acted coy, throwing a look left and right, as if to make sure nobody would hear about some sordid affair _(not ours, nothing is going on)_ and Julian admired, not for the first time, Garak’s theatricality and attention to detail.

“The entirely unsubstantiated kind of rumor, of course.”

Julian awaited the answer breathlessly. One could always count on Garak to spin a story.

“It was… _hinted_ that Iloja had an exclusive preference for his own gender. Or rather, whatever the equivalent to a male the alien species in question had.”

Julian’s breath hitched.

If there was a person Garak was intending to murder, Julian was starting to think the one ending up murdered would be him. What _was_ that alluring scent? Garak didn’t really smell that way usually… Was that… cologne?

Might as well be pheromones, for the effect they had.

The only thing he could think of to do was to nod dumbly.

***

There came a moment in any conversation, negotiation (or interrogation), when Garak just _knew_ he had someone.

The absolute focus on what he was saying.

The betraying acceleration of breath.

Bashir was _definitely_ paying attention.

And, as with every good negotiation (or interrogation) the key was to get them invested first and to know when to stop and just _listen._

Everyone had something to say. Something they wanted known.

Garak observed Bashir attempting to compose himself.

“Are you telling me he got exiled over being gay? That’s terrible!”

Garak couldn’t help the withering stare he sent Bashir.

“On Cardassia, preference for one’s own gender has been accepted for over a millenia, Doctor. Unlike on your planet. Unless I am mistaken?”

Julian stammered.

“I- that’s unfair, Garak. Same sex marriage has been perfectly legal on Earth for over two centuries!”

“Took your species rather a long time to come around to it…” Garak insinuated, hoping for a satisfying explosion and he was not disappointed.

“How-” Julian stiffened in indignation. “Every culture has something dark in their past!”

Bashir was so magnificent when riled up. Expressive green eyes flashing angrily, his entire posture tensing, coiled and ready for a rebuke…

Garak continued.

“Human culture seems rife with conflict… I know you seem to believe that your society has risen above millenia of unsuccesful forms of government by having, what – less than two centuries of peace and prosperity? Such complacency is what usually leads to the fall of a civilization, not its longterm survival…”

“Garak! Stop derailing the conversation! Federation values aren’t on trial here!”

“Whatever gave you that impression, Doctor? I was merely-“

“I think you’re just trying to excuse the terrible things your own government has done by tarring every other culture with the same brush! You think if you make everything relative that it invalidates progress and change others have made. Besides, we were talking about Iloja of Prim – not politics.”

“My dear Doctor…” Garak drawled, “ _Everything_ is about politics. I know your culture values individuality greatly, so you forget just how _interconnected_ everything truly is. A thing, a person – is nothing if divorced from proper context. I am merely trying to explain Iloja’s.”

Julian huffed and crossed his arms.

“Well, go on then.”

Garak sighed. He’d overplayed his hand a bit, it seemed.

“Iloja wasn’t exiled for preferring men, Doctor. He was exiled for insinuating with his poetry that taking alien lovers was equivalent to taking a Cardassian spouse.”

Bashir shook his head in disbelief.

“So he was exiled for loving an alien? That’s still terrible, Garak!”

“I never said Cardassia still maintains that attitude, Doctor. Mixed marriages do happen nowadays.”

“Let me guess,” Bashir looked at him with narrowed eyes. “It’s only allowed because the political climate has changed?”

“You’re learning, Doctor!” Garak exclaimed.

If only that included finally getting the hint…

“So… You’re telling me that all that talk about beautiful scenery was, what? Pornographic?”

Garak grinned, savoring the heat pouring from Bashir in waves.

“Of course it was! Didn’t you sense it?”

Reaching for his drink, Julian seemed to withdraw into his own mind for a moment, sipping and sifting though the poetry he had read, no doubt trying to recontextualize it.

Garak decided to help him along.

In his most persuasive voice, low and soft, he recited.

“ _Darkness descends, and I wait._

_I wait for_ _the darkest blue sky, glittering with sapphire stars,_

_and caramel sands between my fingers._

_I close my eyes and let the seas wash over my thighs,_

_Wash them clean, gleaming and wet._

_I burrow into the soil – welcomed_

_And bloom like a sunseeker.”_

***

The moment Julian realized Garak was reciting Iloja’s poetry, alarms started blaring in his head. This was terrible! If Garak kept using that tone of voice, that low purr…

Julian licked his lips, unable to look away.

The stars turned into Garak’s eyes, the sand… Oh God, was that a descriptor of-

And the sea, washing over gleaming wet thighs…

Feeling stifled, he unfastened his collar, trying to breathe.

Burrowing… blooming…

Julian cursed internally – Garak was right.

It _was_ pornographic.

Julian may not be Cardassian but he could perfectly see how achingly sexual this poem was now. And what if… What if the sea didn’t refer to water at all, but to… to some kind of biological process, to…

Julian had a niggling feeling that the process described, or at least, its human equivalent, was currently transpiring in his briefs.

“Do you understand now, Doctor?” Garak asked in a honeyed voice and Julian was forced to stifle an inappropriate moan.

Oh, he understood very well.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was utterly screwed.

“Oh my, look at the time! I really should be going, Doctor. I will see you for our usual lunch _appointment_.”

Julian stammered something that failed to materialize into proper language and nearly jumped out of his skin when warm hands descended on his shoulders, eerily reminiscent of-

“Do try to find some _free time_ , Doctor? I would hate to see you _overwork_ yourself…”

Julian bit back a shameful whimper and watched Garak glide away, his ornate back catching shadows in a way that should, frankly, be illegal.

Once Garak and his tight outfit were out of sight, Julian buried his flaming face in his hands and groaned.

What was he going to _do_ about this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are killing me, I swear.
> 
> Next chapter - SKANT!
> 
> P.S. Deepest apologies for shitty poetry, I assure you - it sounds and looks MUCH better in original Kardassi.


	7. The Scandalous Skant

Garak spent the next few days buoyed by a wonderful mood. Whenever he crossed paths with a rude customer, or looked down at a blandly replicated meal, he would remember the way Julian had looked at him, flustered beyond measure. It had been so long since he’d last been looked at with any kind of desire, so he made a point to savor it. That delightfully flushed face, the staggered breath…

Oh, he’d shocked Bashir, all right. The memory intermingled with the one of their first meeting, where Bashir had been so endearingly tongue-tied that Garak was having trouble holding back from propositioning him more openly. He knew humans were more blunt and honest about these things, but in retrospect, he’d still been _quite_ forward. Despite that, he was fairly certain that Bashir hadn’t even picked up on the offer he’d extended.

At least it had led to a wonderful friendship.

A friendship Garak was hoping might yet grow into something more… _carnal._

He caught himself humming while he worked. A very unusual occurrence, by his standards.

For the first time since before his wire started malfunctioning, he found he was… happy. And this kind of happiness wasn’t even artificially induced, which made it doubly precious.

Today was the day for their usual lunch appointment and Garak’s mood was about as fizzy as Bashir’s drink had been. He had decided not to wear the low-cut blue tunic this time around - better to keep the good Doctor guessing. He opted for a slimming black tunic today, and caught himself staring into the mirror, humming appreciatively at the silver trim. Simple, yet eye-catching.

One final look at the chronometer assured him he would be just on time if he closed the shop within a few metrics. Too impatient to tarry, he politely ushered a non-paying customer out and locked up.

Was the station air fresher today? Perhaps the Chief had swapped out the atmospheric filters overnight.

With a bounce in his step and a wide smile on his face, he strolled to the Replimat.

It seemed luck served him, as his favorite table was available and it wasn’t over-crowded yet. When he spotted a free terminal, he decided to capitalize on his good fortune and order before Bashir arrived. A zabu steak would do just nicely.

Tray in hand, he headed for the table and sat down. Even the rokassa juice tasted better than usual. Now, if only Julian arrived on time, this day would be absolutely perfect.

No sooner had he thought that, did a melodious voice reach him from behind.

“Garak, there you are! I’m glad I’m not late today-“

As Bashir sailed into view, Garak’s already half-formed sentence transmuted in his mouth.

“For once, dear Doct- what _are_ you wearing??”

“It’s a skant!” Julian exclaimed enthusiastically. “One of the uniform variants, I don’t really wear it much since it’s usually more practical to have a bit more insulation against the elements – the Infirmary can get a bit messy, as you can probably imagine…”

Garak didn’t hear the rest of the lengthy explanation involving various unsavory fluids being spilled during the course of treatment and realized he was too shocked to actually form words.

There was… _some_ black cloth. Also a large front panel in the blue shade which signaled Bashir’s department. As he looked up and down at the… _ensemble,_ he also realized how much _wasn’t_ there.

No sleeves.

No trousers.

Black boots that barely covered Bashir’s ankles.

And then there were things that _were_ there. On full display.

Elbows. Forearms. Knees.

_Thighs._

Garak locked his legs together to stop what was likely inevitable at this point.

“Do you like it?” Julian asked, gave him a beaming smile and did a little twirl on the spot, his long limbs flaying around. In that brief movement, Garak caught a flash of blue when Bashir’s… _tunic_ rode up.

Underwear. The same shade as the damnable front panel.

Garak let out a strangled sound.

He was beyond the ability to say anything coherent that wouldn’t be an outraged tirade.

Like it? _Like it???_

Who in their damned mind would like this, this… travesty! Never mind getting arrested – this would get Bashir convicted for corruption of public morals! Not to mention the fact that the blasted thing was cut so poorly that it managed to hide Julian’s trim waist. Didn’t _anyone_ in Earth history see the benefit of a well-designed uniform? A lot could be said about Cardassian military, but the style and cut of their uniforms was above reproach. And the garments were actually protective, unlike this… thing.

“Doctor!” Garak said in a scandalized voice that was quite sincere for a change. “I must protest!”

Julian rolled his eyes.

“If you tell me it’s poorly tailored and an affront to the senses I will have you know that-“

Garak cut in. “That you will follow me to my shop immediately so I can get you a pair of trousers? Indeed you will, Doctor.”

“What?” Julian laughed. “Skants aren’t worn with trousers Garak! This is how it’s supposed to look.”

“What a poorly conceived design!”

Julian heaved a massive sigh and rolled his eyes insolently.

“It’s an official uniform, Garak, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

The challenge may have been issued unthinkingly, but Garak was damned if he was going to let Julian sit across from him like that, arms bared, legs crossed underneath the table…

All of that gloriously warm skin within reach…

Garak wouldn’t survive it.

The only winning move here was not to play.

He got up abruptly and invaded Bashir’s personal space.

“I suggest we continue this conversation in my shop, Doctor.”

Bashir blinked at him owlishly. 

“What conversation?”

Garak hissed.

“The conversation about your sartorial choices, Doctor.”

Julian gave him an exasperated look.

“Garak, I _know_ you have a low opinion of my fashion sense, you’ve made no secret of that.”

“Oh, this goes a bit further than that.” Garak said and placed his palm on the only place he could where his hand wouldn’t get scalded – the small of Julian’s back. “And if you follow me, I will expound on the topic.”

Julian huffed and wriggled away.

“I don’t see why we can’t talk while we have lunch – look; your food is getting cold.”

“The food is the least of my worries,” Garak said with a hint of irritation. “And if you value my opinion in the least, you will indulge me on this.”

Garak was so focused on conveying the seriousness of his request that he reached out with his hand, quite forgetting that the arm he was about to grasp was unclothed. The moment his fingers closed around warm wiry muscle, several things happened at once - Bashir inhaled sharply, tiny hairs rising and dappling the skin Garak was currently grasping; while a fierce feeling of warmth suffused what felt about every single ridge on his body. Julian’s eyes were locked with his, surprised and dazed. Garak’s gaze fell onto those lush parted lips and he felt his body struggling against his mind in an effort to breach the space left between them.

Julian let out the tiniest of gasps and Garak felt his resolve fraying dangerously.

“Do you still want to have this conversation here?” Garak murmured and watched Julian’s eyes go wide with understanding of their current predicament. Julian glanced left and right, clearly assessing the damage. When his eyes found Garak’s once more, Julian nodded.

Garak knowingly abandoned his lunch, writing off the credits in his mind. One missed lunch wouldn’t kill him; unlike this tempting wretch walking by his side.

He dared not touch Bashir at all while he was dressed this way.

Aside from occasionally brushing fingers, they had never pressed palms. The one time Julian grasped his hand (on his deathbed) Garak wasn’t in the position to feel the gesture in a romantic sense. It had been deeper than that.

Garak had been too paranoid to even perform shri-tal; asking forgiveness instead. Asking for acceptance from at least one person in his life.

The fact Bashir forgave him, despite not knowing the depths of his shame… It was no wonder his heart was forfeit. Being accepted for all of your flaws was a heady drug, more addictive than the wire had been.

Despite his best efforts, maintaining composure was hard when one was walking next to a beacon of warmth. His peripheral vision was good enough to see that Bashir was blushing.

_Hold it together, Elim. You’re not some fumbling youth anymore._

How could he, though? Bashir’s smooth brown skin stood in such contrast with the rest of the surroundings that Garak couldn’t help the focus that was bestowed upon it, if entirely unwillingly.

Not for the first time, Garak cursed his weakness for beautiful, loquacious beings. Julian also had the added inconvenience of being absurdly kind and principled.

Strong-willed.

Garak added that to his list of weaknesses. They seemed to be growing where Julian was concerned.

As they walked, Garak trying desperately not to admire those long limbs, they crossed paths with a pair of chatty Ensigns who didn’t seem to share his self-restraint. One of the girls whistled at Bashir in passing, and the other craned her neck after they had passed, openly admiring the view.

When he chanced a look at Bashir, he seemed embarrassed by the attention – pulling his skant down in a futile attempt to hide (at least a sliver of) his thighs.

Garak had never known Bashir to shy away from female attention. Usually, a compliment would leave the Doctor beaming like a fool. Not that Garak considered such crude vocalizations compliments – they were quite unbecoming.

He filed Bashir’s unusual reaction away for later.

It was a relief when they finally reached his shop, Julian looking distinctly squirmy as his eyes darted around. As he was unlocking, Garak wondered what warranted such concern, and hoped it wasn’t him causing Bashir anxiety.

“Go on in, Doctor.”

Julian gave him a skittish glance and entered the shop. Garak locked the door behind them.

He was quite grateful that these new doors didn’t have transparent panels in them.

Especially if his self-control faltered down the line.

“Are you- why are you locking the door?”

“I am still technically on my lunch break; it wouldn’t do to give my customers the wrong impression.”

“Ah,” Julian said nervously. “Of course. Cardassian punctuality and all that.”

Feeling disquieted by Julian’s discomfort, Garak wondered whether he should simply unlock the door and let Julian flee.

“Why don’t I find you a nice, fitting pair of black trousers, my dear?”

Julian’s breathing quickened.

“Garak… I told you the skant is worn without trousers. Putting them on would ruin the point.”

Garak stared at him. Ruin the point of what? An even more useless uniform? The point of provoking him into stepping closer and pulling Bashir in by his waist - observing every minute expression the action provoked?

Garak was sorely tempted.

“And since when do you even care what I wear?” Julian said defiantly.

Garak knew he had no right to be dictating what Julian chose to wear. Or not wear, for that matter.

The question demanded an answer, though, and he was never one to miss an opportunity to parry.

“Why, I am your tailor! Who else can be counted upon to keep you looking your best?”

Julian huffed in exasperation.

“Thank you for your concern, Garak, but I’m fine.”

“You didn’t seem fine when that young Ensign whistled after you. Such a crude gesture – is it meant to be flattering?”

Julian flushed, clearly mortified.

“I’m… It’s not exactly _polite_ , but I’m sure they didn’t mean anything bad by it…”

Julian averted his gaze and ran a hand over his forearm in a clearly self-soothing gesture.

“There are better ways to compliment a beautiful individual.” Garak stated and watched a subtle shiver traverse Julian’s frame. Expressive hazel eyes locked on his, Bashir’s countenance one of subtle anticipation.

“Why vocalize so primitively when one can let a look… _linger_?” With that, he gave Bashir a long, torturously thorough once-over – from the bottom up.

Julian exhaled, eyelashes fluttering.

“Why whistle when one can argue, enjoying the sharp wit of their partner?”

Julian took an unconscious step back, his mouth slack and eyes hooded.

“Why treat beauty with crude acknowledgments, when one can savor every facet and spend _years_ in subtle encouragement and praise?”

When the back of Julian’s thighs met the edge of Garak’s display table, eyes widening in surprise, Garak relished the soft panting breaths Julian was unable to suppress. The eyes peering at him were both helpless and expectant. Garak could do naught but deliver.

He stepped closer, all but cornering Bashir, and spoke in a more intimate tone.

“Beauty should be properly appreciated…” Garak trailed off, reaching with both hands for the sleeves of Julian’s skant. “It should be treated with delicate touches.” His fingers slid across the unexciting material of the uniform and teased at the hemline before descending onto firm skin - ever so slowly. “A compliment is an expression of respect.” A subtle gasp accompanied the gentle downwards slide of his fingertips as they caressed a path down Julian’s bare arms.

Where he touched, tiny hairs rose up to meet him, supple skin changing texture subtly. “A compliment should convey admiration and appreciation…” He tore his eyes away from trembling arms and looked at Julian’s flushed face. Julian was inching closer, lips open in invitation Garak wasn’t sure was deliberate. And as he trailed his fingertips down Julian’s wrists, he felt long, dexterous fingers twitching from his touch.

“A compliment should leave both the giver and the recipient warm,” Garak murmured. “Wouldn’t you agree, my _dear_ Doctor?”

The only answer he received was a low, helpless whine.

Garak brushed his fingertips over Julian’s knuckles and between fingers, lingering – waiting. He wasn’t disappointed – Julian was trembling, his breathing erratic and needy.

“Garak,” Julian moaned, “a-are you trying to seduce me?”

Pleading eyes looked up at him and Garak took it all in. Julian – all but sitting on his table, skant riding up-

Garak’s intake of breath was a shamefully protracted hiss.

_That_ was new.

He looked at Julian and smiled filthily.

“Why, is it working?”

Garak observed droplets of sweat beading on Julian’s forehead. The scent of him was coming forth in waves, musky and salty, leaving Garak mildly light-headed. Julian’s thighs twitched, his legs parting a tiny increment. Did the dear Doctor even realize how inviting he looked in that moment? It would be absurdly easy to slide his palms up those blissfully warm legs and to halt at the knees, grasping them possessively and watch as the last of Julian’s reservations melted away once Garak began parting those finely-boned knees…

Julian was panting, face flushed fetchingly. If there ever was a moment when Bashir was receptive to his advances, it was now.

And Garak was so very tired of waiting.

“You’ve been a terrible tease my dear, testing my patience at every turn…” He murmured, running his palms upwards across wiry arms so gently that he was barely touching skin. He felt the energy thrumming in Julian veins, pulsing with life as it strained against his skin. Coiled and needy, Julian moaned softly, clearly trying to stifle his reactions.

“I wonder who is seducing whom?” Garak wondered aloud. “If anything, I’m just finishing what you’ve started.”

Julian’s eyes were wide, and the expression in them belied the one conveyed by rest of his body. Innoncence was overshadowed by a tension that could have only one source – and only one resolution.

“As if our heated debates weren’t enough, you had to torment me with your sartorial choices as well. First, you wore that _awful_ silver outfit that outlined you most indecently… Then the asymmetrical neckline – what a cruel way to tease me with the prospect of revealing your tempting collarbones, always fastidiously hidden beneath your uniform…”

He extended his hand to unfasten said uniform, revealing Julian’s throat.

“And after all that, you saunter in here, displaying your vulnerable abdomen… Did you know that doing so is a sign of trust?”

Julian’s breathing was staggered and he was trembling, hands gripping the edge of the table in a way that suggested he was barely holding himself together.

Garak trailed a finger through the garment, parting it further. Once Julian’s collarbones were fully exposed, he admired the view.

“You should show them off, Doctor. It’s a waste to keep them hidden.”

He was _extremely_ tempted to taste the skin revealed.

“Then again, not many could appreciate the sight.” With a deprecating sound, his gaze travelled upwards. “Tasteless barbarians.” Garak concluded, reveling in the pleading expression on Julian’s face.

He was being beseeched. Dear Julian was begging him - with every flutter of eyelashes, every whitening of knuckles against the table, every tremble of lush lips.

It’s been so long since anyone’s begged him for release of this kind.

He basked in the raw need for a moment, knowing full well that he was incapable of keeping Julian trembling in need for long. Garak knew he would serve – every whim, every plea – helpless before the creature in his grasp. The craving was strong – urging him to give Julian everything he was begging for. He wanted to have those long, nimble fingers buried in his hair; gripped hard as he coaxed inflaming whimpers from Julian’s straining throat.

Garak moved closer, nose brushing lightly along the underside of Julian’s smooth jaw. He breathed in the scent – so potent here, and stilled for a moment – savoring it.

“You’re a drug, Julian…” He muttered against Julian’s skin, lips brushing against the long column of his neck. Julian was straining against him, taut as a compact disruptor with the safety off. “What do you think the sight of your bared skin does to me?”

Julian whimpered in frustration, desperate for the touch Garak was carefully dosing.

Not yet.

_Not yet, my dear._

For all the torment Julian had visited upon him, Garak intended to pay him back double. He hoped the pleasure received would make Julian more inclined to forgive his pettiness.

“Did you think I was made of stone? That you could divest in front of me freely? That you could twirl for me, flashing an undergarment that matches this scandalously revealing outfit in full view of the entire Replimat? I am surprised the lunch crowd didn’t whistle too.”

The heat of him ratcheted up another notch and when Garak breathed into Julian’s ear, he got a desperate little keen for his troubles.

“Will you still tell me, after all this, that you hadn’t intended any of it?”

Julian managed to find his voice, and it was delightfully raw when it finally emerged.

“Garak, _please_ -“

That’s all the incentive Garak needed. He cradled Bashir’s neck with his right hand, feeling the insistent flutter of a very human heart-beat against his skin. He hadn’t had much opportunity to take a human’s pulse, but he assumed it wasn’t normally this fast.

This time – it is him who quickened Julian’s breath and his heart. Garak was just about to taste Julian’s pulse point, when the human spoke once more.

“I’ll be late to Jadzia’s party… Uh-“

Garak frowned and removed himself from the crook of Julian’s neck.

“What party?”

“The skant party, Garak.” Julian barely managed to say; still affected. “She… she has theme parties from time to time. I guess, uh… I guess she thought having us all wearing skants would be amusing.”

It dawned on Garak that, while he’d been aware of Julian’s general obliviousness, he’d managed to forget about it under the onslaught of hormones.

It hadn’t been deliberate.

Seduced by an utter innocent.

It would be mortifying if he hadn’t been aware of it already.

“I told you I’d be going to the party…” Julian offered unsteadily.

“When?” Garak asked because he honestly couldn’t recall the information – and his memory was usually impeccable.

“Uh… at the Replimat?” Julian prompted. “Today?”

It dawned on him that the dear Doctor had been so damnably distracting that his brain didn’t even register the information. How very humiliating.

Garak cleared his throat and straightened out.

“It would seem I hadn’t been paying proper attention, Doctor.”

The admission didn’t come easy, but he felt it would be improper to continue. Julian had just gotten… swept up. These things happened.

Garak cursed the fact that they had to happen to him.

It’s then that his gaze fell to Julian’s barely clothed lap and Garak realized that not everything was lost.

“Or… You could have a skant _party_ right here, if you wished?” He offered brazenly, lacing his words with as much insinuation as possible.

Julian writhed before him with a half-strangled moan.

Hazel eyes were bright and burning as Julian said breathlessly, “You’d better close for the day then.”

Garak grinned.

That would be no hardship at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be quite, uh... Explicit. So if that's not your thing, you can just imagine that they snuggled a bit and held hands. :D


	8. The Unstitched Undergarment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning - this chapter is kind of explicit, but the fic grew (sigh), so the most explicit part will not be in this chapter. I should probably just change the rating, to be honest...

Oh God. What the hell had he just said??

Telling Garak to close for the day-

_Good job, Julian – desperate much?_

There was no way Cardassians were this open about… about-

This had to be a trick, Garak was just playing or, or- having him on. Right?

Julian’s mind supplied all the different ways Garak could be having him… _on,_ and whimpered. If this turned out to be an elaborate joke, he would… well. He wasn’t rightly sure what he would do. Run away with his tail between his legs (for lack of _other_ , more pleasurable things) and barricade himself in his quarters; possibly drink himself into a stupor and then have a proper crying fit, probably coupled with a long rant directed at Kukalaka – the only companion that wouldn’t give him abuse for having gotten his hopes up.

Well, so what if Garak was just having a little joke at his expense? Julian was a grown man; he could take it in stride.

Maybe…

Maybe Julian could seduce him right back.

Maybe he could make it so good that Garak wouldn’t want to stop.

Damn it, why did Garak look ready to devour him?

Right about now, he could use some devouring.

“I believe the right question in your vernacular would be: _Your place or mine_?”

Julian bit his lower lip, trying not to make any more embarrassing sounds. He wondered why Garak was so disturbingly good at getting him going. Nobody should be this good, but of course it would be the enemy spy, of all people. Julian would be cursing his luck if he wasn’t so into it.

He didn’t need to look down to know that he was sporting an erection so insistent that he was pretty sure not even an orgasm could make it flag. In his uniform, he could hide it – _maybe_. In a skant? No chance. If just passing by dressed like this made people take note of him, walking around with a stiffy would elicit a considerably more vocal response than a single wolf-whistle. He didn’t want to show any unsuspecting former (or future) patients his… _deviant_ side.

Wearing a skant was fine – wearing it next to the man you were pretty sure you wanted in your bed (or on any other readily available surface) – decidedly less fine. Also horribly conspicuous.

He thought he could have gotten away with it at lunch because there would be a table between them in case of any… _Mishaps_.

No such luck. He really hadn’t counted on Garak grasping his arm. He hadn’t known that the touch of those calloused fingers would feel like he’d poked a live wire – electricity skittering down every single nerve he could name (and some he’d forgotten because his brain had short-circuited).

Garak made a purring sound in his throat. The vibration went straight to his cock. Julian felt his thighs parting of their own accord.

“You seem rather disinclined to move, my dear… Is it my table you prefer?”

Julian gasped, knees coming together in an attempt to salvage what meagre scrap of dignity he still possessed when he realized that when his knees had come into contact, it wasn’t with each other.

Disbelieving, his gaze snapped downwards to corroborate the sensory input he was receiving from the skin of his bared thighs, namely that it was scraping against fabric.

Of Garak’s trousers.

Garak who had taken a step forward a split second before Julian had lost control of his legs.

Garak who was looking at him like he was in the worst kind of trouble.

Julian had never believed that it was possible to climax untouched. His previous experiences simply didn’t support the hypothesis. Sure, a pretty sight went a long way, yet some kind of touch was usually necessary – grasp, pressure, slide – anything.

He couldn’t explain how he could be feeling all of the above when the only point of contact was their eyes.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” Garak smirked and Julian felt like his higher brain functions had vacated his body (and possibly the station as well).

How could a single look from those blue eyes make him want to melt, all the while setting every nerve on fire?

Julian wanted so badly to be touched.

“I’ve never seen you at a loss for words, Doctor. I must admit, it’s an attractive look, even if I am quite partial to the sound of your voice.”

Garak was killing him.

This wasn’t seduction – it was bloody warfare.

And Julian was losing, badly.

He had to strike back, wipe that smug look off Garak’s face. Do _something_ to discompose the gloating Cardassian laying siege to him. A battle couldn’t be won by staying passive!

“Are you going to keep talking at me, Garak, or will you actually _do_ something?”

He was half-shocked by his tone, not knowing where he’d managed to pull it from.

Wherever it had come from, it was apparently quite effective, since Garak inhaled with a hiss. Julian was beginning to doubt his choice of strategy, though, as this only made it more likely that Garak would dismantle him as expertly as he dismantled clothing to alter it.

“Oh, I plan to do a great many things to you, Julian…”

The sound of his name was a wicked promise. It made Julian lift his hips off the table, seeking friction. And when Garak moved closer, Julian felt himself growing dizzy with the idea of being kissed. His eyes closed of their own volition – any moment now-

A gasp was torn out of his mouth when a scalding pair of lips descended on his neck. Julian couldn’t focus – what with Garak’s left hand sliding up his thigh, and Garak’s right holding his neck in place.

Oh, he was losing – spectacularly, do doubt about it – but what a way to go!

“Ah-uhhmm, oh-” Julian’s head swam, his toes curling in pleasure.

He was being tortured – inch by glorious inch, with gentle nips of teeth and soft swipes of a differently textured tongue, raspy and – and if that didn’t clue him in that he was probably just as bad as Iloja-

_Do something – pay him back!_

That would require the use of his arms which were all tingly and strangely half-asleep. Julian could barely think, let alone devise a strategy to get back at Garak.

“You will have to moderate your volume, my dear – wouldn’t want the other shop owners to call security, would you? What would the Constable think to find us like this?”

Oh God. There were species with excellent hearing on the station – Ferengi chief among them, and then there were aliens who could probably smell what they were up to even through these closed doors, and that wasn’t even counting the telepaths who were, in all likelihood, getting an unsolicited porn video courtesy of his wild imagination right this second.

All Julian knew is that if Garak continued doing whatever he damn well pleased, he would likely rouse half the Promenade before they even did anything _truly_ compromising.

Running with the first thing that came to mind, Julian went on the offensive.

***

Garak was still struggling with accepting the idea that Julian seemed amenable to activities of a distinctly non-platonic nature.

Not merely amenable, either – _enthusiastic_ was probably a better word for it.

He almost felt bad for lying to Bashir about the sound-proofing of the room – the truth was that it wouldn’t be an issue unless Bashir got _really_ loud, which he wasn’t at the moment. A part of him was tempted to encourage the sounds just to see how much more uninhibited Julian could get – as he was already absurdly responsive.

Garak loved it. Eliciting gasps, involuntary flexing of muscle – a willing partner was always a thrill, and a willing Julian was a veritable feast for the senses. Especially when the little sounds he was making turned frustrated. It was difficult, reining himself in not to simply cut away Julian’s uniform and claim him on the table.

It was only through a supreme mental effort that he hadn’t everted yet, even if his slick was seeping out at a steady pace, impossible to stem.

Julian’s skin was deliciously salty, like a treat he used to steal from the kitchens back when he lived at _uncle_ Enabran’s. It elicited the same thrill of taking something he wasn’t exactly allowed to have (even if Julian seemed quite happy with the prospect).

When Julian moved, Garak didn’t fully register it because he was otherwise preoccupied, his tongue tingling pleasantly with the taste of human skin. Slim arms which had thus far been clutching the edge of his table splayed across his chest, pushing. His first thought was that Julian wanted to stop. Garak allowed his body to turn pliant and followed the cue, easing away with great reluctance.

Garak licked his lips, already mourning the loss of access to the taste.

Julian seemed to be staring, exceedingly tense.

“You shouldn’t be the only one having fun…”

Garak wasn’t sure what Julian was referring to when the sight of long fingers fisting around his collar pierced the haze. He found himself pulled forward and gripped Bashir’s thigh trying to stabilize himself before he fell-

-straight onto an eager pair of lips.

Garak knew that humans had a propensity for this gesture and considered it romantic – and in many cases, a preamble to sexual activities.

To Cardassians, it was a touch more intimate than that. Lip-locking was reserved for the grand finale to a wonderful evening, not its beginning.

The fact Julian was kissing him so ferociously threatened his resolve in the most incriminating of ways.

Unable to suppress the reactions of his traitorous body, Garak moaned into Julian’s soft mouth, hoping that the good Doctor had no idea about this difference in romantic ritual. He felt like he was eating a dessert before the main course - utterly indulgent and a little bit naughty.

And when Julian’s little tongue pushed past his lips, Garak groaned.

There was no way Julian could know what that meant, even if it was true – a possession of the most intimate kind. Garak was overtaken by the eager human pressed up against him - claimed with no knowledge of it, this time his body instead of his heart. He couldn’t resist tasting Julian - traces of a raktajino with a hint of sweetness, probably overly sweetened just like anything the Doctor tended to drink. Beautiful arms locked behind his neck, Julian drawing him in and melting into the embrace.

When his companion broke for air, he muttered, “Fuck, Garak – a great kisser as well? Is there anything you’re actually bad at?”

Julian was complimenting him. That was so unusual that he simply stood there dumbfounded for a moment.

“A wise man conceals his inadequacies, my dear. I would think that was self-evident.”

Julian gave him a half-dazed but brilliant grin.

“In other words, you aren’t going to tell me.”

Julian Bashir was particularly adept at spurring his mischievous side to action. Usually he only indulged it by insinuating and dropping crumbs for Bashir to interpret.

The time for crumbs was long past.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Garak said with a wide smile.

“I guess I will have to find out for myself?” Julian all but purred.

This was bad. If he allowed Julian to set the pace, he would soil his pants irreparably. A surreptitious glance downwards reassured him that nothing was outwardly visible, despite the fact he could feel his liquids slowly trickling down his thighs. Then his gaze fell on Julian’s lap and he realized there was a small spot of darker blue in the front. It took him a second to process what it was and where it had come from.

Garak slid his palms across Julian’s knees and upward, stopping just shy of the hem of the skant.

“Now, what is _this_?”

***

Oh no… No, no, no, no-

This was bad. Very very bad.

Garak was taking control of the situation once again and Julian was dying to actually let him.

It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Garak seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe the best thing he could do was to just let go and allow Garak to do whatever he wanted with him. After all, having those skilled fingers sliding up his thighs felt like somebody had pressed a full hypo of testosterone and oxytocin to his neck.

“You cannot exactly go out like this, can you?” Garak all but purred, lifting his skant for a closer inspection. “It would scandalize more than my delicate sensibilities.”

Julian felt himselt twitch eagerly and wanted to die of embarrassment.

Sleeping with women never made him this… this weird. Possibly because things felt a bit more equitable with the women. Whether the encounters were more romantic, or merely playful – he’d never been reduced to a whimpering mess. It was true what they said – there was a first time for everything.

And this first time seemed to be shaping up to be one to remember.

If he could recall anything but tortured bliss afterwards, that is.

“That seems rather… constricting,” Garak remarked in a voice that positively dripped false sympathy, “why don’t I _release_ you from it?”

Julian groaned.

Garak was killing him.

Slowly, methodically, and all that with a smile.

And when Garak reached behind him, Julian leaned back onto the table, bracing himself on his elbows. Would Garak sweep everything off the table, like in the old holovids? He felt light-headed and weak, just about ready to surrender to the pressure building up in his groin, when Garak’s right hand reappeared, grasping some kind of tailoring tool.

Julian’s throat went dry. What was Garak planning with that thing?

Oh-what if-

Too invested in the possibilities, Julian almost missed the feeling of a stitch unraveling against his hip. Garak was cutting into his briefs at the side-seams, his face a vision of sheer delight.

Julian’s mind filled with the entirely unwelcome image of a Cardassian boy eagerly tearing the wrapping paper off a present.

Fuck, was that what he was?

“Don’t worry, my dear – these modern instruments have a safety against cutting skin. The only thing suffering will be these unsightly undergarments.”

The thought of injury hadn’t even crossed his mind.

The fact that Garak had considered both his safety and his peace of mind set off a swarm of butterflies in Julian’s stomach.

Did Garak-

Warmth suffused Julian, tears prickling in his eyes.

And when the left seam of his briefs came completely undone, Garak followed the opened path with his finger, creating a cascade failure in Julian’s brain. His hips bucked, his back arched and he lay back, eyes staring at the dark ceiling but seeing pinpricks of light instead.

He could feel the stitch on the other side giving way and whimpered.

Could one die of sexual frustration? Because Julian would loath to be the first documented person to do so. Especially if he was the first human tortured to death by a seductive Cardassian – it would be such a shame if his example put people off. Everyone should get the opportunity, at least once.

While he may have secretly had – _“sex with a Cardassian”_ on his bucket-list, Julian had had no idea how applicable that would become.

Or how swiftly one would follow the other. 

Oh God, Garak was peeling away what was left of his stained briefs.

This was it – he was going to die on Garak’s tailoring table, lying across fabric samples and finished garments – sacrificed to some Cardassian deity of needle and thread; or maybe the Cardassian god of war – as a casualty of Garak’s prowess.

Julian knew when he was beat, and he was feeling quite conquered at the moment, thank you very much. To the victor belong the spoils, right?

“Look at you…” Garak murmured huskily and Julian could feel himself teetering on the edge. Clutching at assorted cloth unlucky enough to have found itself under his fingers, he gasped – he was so close, so very very- “I want to taste every last inch of you…”

With a wrenching cry, Julian climaxed in several intense spurts, his entire body releasing the tight coil of tension that had been building for so, so long – days, months, _years_ – ever since he first felt those sure and almost proprietary hands on his shoulders…

He collapsed onto the table, dizzy and breathless, trying to blink away the blinding swarms of phosphenes from his vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not plan for this, but Julian just got tortured to death. Oops.


	9. The Crumpled Tunic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm. The fic grew. Again. They just don't want to stop!!
> 
> Enjoy 5 k worth of shameless smut. Needless to say, this chapter is VERY EXPLICIT.

Was that-

Had that been-

Garak stood above an artistically splayed Julian Bashir and took a long moment to simply take in the view.

His first thought was – _What a criminally debauched sight._

His second – _Weren’t human males thrown out of commission the moment the rain was upon them?_

He’d been looking forward to more, yet… At least Julian seemed to be enjoying himself.

Or had enjoyed himself.

Garak wondered whether he should be feeling bereft, or at least disappointed by the fact that their activities would undoubtedly be halted, if not called off entirely by this turn of events, and found that, strangely enough, he wasn’t. How often did one get the satisfaction of seeing such a beautiful creature unravel at their hands?

He watched Julian lying on his table – a glorious, messy centre point in a riot of colorful textile.

Garak wanted to rip the skant open and run his hands over the swaths of immaculate skin this would reveal. Julian, looking completely undone, like the most beautiful sewing project awaiting his expert touch to bring it together.

Before him lay the perfect canvas, waiting for a splatter of pearlescent pale blue. The image of his seed glistening across Julian’s smooth chest and abdomen sent flashes of fire down his ridges, leaving them swollen and tingling. His neckline felt uncomfortably tight.

With a groan, Julian stirred, long limbs trying and failing to coordinate properly.

Garak watched him rise slowly - unsteady and somewhat dizzy. Julian seemed to be trying to blink himself into some kind of mental clarity.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Garak said teasingly, making Julian snort out and laugh in an entirely too charming a manner.

“Funny, I was under the impression that I’d died and gone to heaven.”

Garak couldn’t really imagine such a place would be welcoming to him, even in a hypothetical scenario. Whoever sorted people after death would never put the two of them in the same place.

“Well… It was a _little_ death.” Julian said sheepishly.

“A little death?” Garak inquired, unfamiliar with the term.

Julian’s face flushed.

“It originated in French – _la petite mort_ – and it’s uh- it refers to the post-coital stupor. I mean, it’s not an actual condition or anything, it’s just an expression.”

“I see.” Garak said wryly. “I am glad it’s a non-threatening issue, as it would be rather difficult to explain the presence of the station’s Chief Medical Officer’s dead body on my sewing table.”

Julian’s eyes shone with mirth.

“Oh yes, I’m sure that would be a terrible inconvenience for you.”

“Of course it would!” Garak exclaimed, “The Constable would never believe me that you’d expired from natural causes!”

Julian _giggled._

The sound reached straight into his chest and scrambled his insides. How any man could be this disarming was beyond him. An overwhelming urge to taste Julian’s laughter bubbled to the surface. Would it be as airy as standing on the cliffs over the Morfan Sea?

So what if Cardassian kisses were rarely bestowed? He wasn’t with a Cardassian right now. If Garak chose to kiss him, Julian wouldn’t know how irregular that was.

Julian called those ' _little white lies_ '. On par with telling someone their dress looked good - not that Julian would know a good dress if it shot him with a photon torpedo.

With a little groan, Julian got up, eyeing the long thin stain down the blue panel of his skant with ill-concealed dismay.

“Garak, I can’t go out like this!” Julian complained, hazel eyes gleaming with reproach.

“Oh?” Garak said mildly, “I think it’s an improvement.”

Julian spluttered, his cheeks staining a darker color.

“You don’t _actually_ want me to walk down the Promenade stark naked, do you?” Julian was positively aghast.

“I doubt many would complain.”

“Says the man who couldn’t bear to see me in a skant!”

“If you think it was the view I objected to, you clearly haven’t been paying attention.”

***

Julian wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. Was Garak jealous? Something in Julian’s stomach fluttered at the idea of Garak wanting him all to himself. He knew that, in theory, a possessive partner was not something people approved of, as it was somewhat… controlling. It stood to reason that Julian should disapprove of Garak’s possessive streak, at least as a matter of principle. Instead, it made his skin prickle with want.

He stood up, trying to get sensation back into his wobbly limbs. Two steps forward and he was stopped by Garak’s approach. Looking up at keen blue eyes, he inhaled sharply.

“Where do you think you’re going, Julian?” Garak purred.

Julian had no idea how to respond to that. Had he been going anywhere? Right now he couldn’t remember whether he’d had a purpose beyond those wickedly smiling lips.

“I’m not going anywhere…” Julian breathed out, feeling charged and almost incoherent as Garak advanced on him like some kind of mesmerizing predator.

Julian felt like he was on a battlefield, losing formation and being flanked by the enemy. He was half tempted to wave the white flag.

Deft grey fingers reached out, flipped his collar open and stroked the outline of his clavicles. To be perfectly frank, Julian found the sight of Garak’s enthralled expression much more stimulating than the touch itself. Worshipful fingertips trailed down his sternum, followed by Garak’s hungry gaze.

Did Garak look at every lover with such avid fascination?

Julian felt a writhing hot surge of envy. How many others had been treated to this exquisite sight? How many people existed in the galaxy, with this image seared into their memory?

Garak’s palm flattened against his chest and then his gaze fixed on Julian’s.

It felt like a challenge – a dare – _Look at me!_

Torturously slowly, the hand slid upwards in a caress that made Julian’s abdomen clench. Fingers splayed across his neck and Julian felt like he was being held up for some kind of wicked inspection. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing and straining against Garak’s fingers.

He was shivering again, suspended above the precipice, waiting for what came next.

Julian had never been good at waiting for things.

Languidly, coarse fingertips caressed the underside of his jaw, from one side to the other, Garak’s thumb brushing across his lips. They parted of their own accord, setting loose an ungainly whimper. Julian wondered whether he should have licked the digit in passing, but was too slow to react.

“Garak…” He trembled, the low self-satisfied hum coming from Garak setting his nerves alight.

“Yes, my dear?” Garak asked smoothly, clearly enjoying his current predicament.

Julian may have been too far gone for a literary debate, but he recognized the question for what it was – a request for surrender.

“I don’t have to beg you to kiss me, do I?” He moaned, breathless and just a touch desperate.

The only response he got was a reptilian grin – smug and victorious.

“That won’t be necessary…” Garak said in a tone Julian had never heard him use before. It was low and smooth and positively dripping sensuality. The slow manner Garak was leaning in left Julian breathless with anticipation, his heart pounding in his ears and his throat.

Smooth, yet firm lips closed over his and Julian felt himself going weak in the knees. His hands reached out, gripped fabric in an attempt to hold him steady.

Oh, God, Garak’s mouth was so warm, so different. A sinuous tongue tangled with his, dextrous and deliciously textured. Julian moaned, entirely unsurprised to feel his erection filling out once more.

Garak’s other hand was trailing up his thigh, fingertips applying the most insidious form of sensual torment. He was being tortured in the most maddening fashion, all of his focus on the taste and the touch.

Garak was all smooth edges yet firm lines. Julian let his hand wander across the plane of Elim’s back and wished he was touching scale instead. What he could feel through the coarse tunic was woefully inadequate.

Julian found himself slowly being backed into the table.

Was that-

Oh, oh- Garak was pushing his skant up and caressing his hip, groaning into the kiss.

“Julian…”

It was hard to breathe with the intense buzzing in his ears, his heart racing from the rush. Just the way Elim said his name (barely coherent and with poorly concealed lust) threatened to undo his already tenuous grip on his self-control.

“May I taste you?”

Julian felt a tightening in his groin. It should be against the fucking law to be so filthy, especially when the intent was wrapped into such a seemingly polite request.

“I think it’s fairly obvious you could do whatever you wanted with me and that I would let you. Fuck, I’d probably send you flowers and a thank you card afterwards!”

That seemed to assuage Elim and Julian squeaked in a most undignified manner when two strong arms wrapped around his thighs and hoisted him up on the table. Garak lifted the hem of his skant, eyes twinkling with mischief at the impromptu inspection.

“Already? I must be doing _something_ right…”

Julian groaned. As if that wasn’t self-evident already!

And when a curious finger touched his tip, Julian couldn’t help the rocking of his hips. Garak was staring him dead in the eye, one hand resting upon his thigh for the moment when the other re-emerged from under his skant, the pad of a grey thumb glistening. Julian forgot to breathe entirely, enthralled by the trajectory of that questing finger.

Garak didn’t break eye-contact for a second, neither of them blinking, and Julian watched with rapturous fascination as a pair of smiling lips closed around the digit and _suckled._ Garak’s eyes fluttered closed and Julian shuddered at the sight of that wicked tongue tasting his come, the low hum of approval vibrating low in that ornate throat.

Human women seemed to dislike the taste; well… not only the human ones, to be honest. The fact Garak looked like he’d just licked a spoonful of white Delavian chocolate mousse seemed to indicate that the taste was, apparently, more than satisfactory to a Cardassian.

Julian realized he was breathing heavily, lost in the sight of Elim enjoying himself.

And while he enjoyed seeing (and causing) pleasure in his partners, he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Elim.

“I wonder if I could coax more out of you?” Garak purred, making Julian swallow.

One part of him wanted to say – _You’re killing me;_ and the other was itching to say – _What the hell are you waiting for?_

What he finally settled on was an incoherent, capitulating whimper as he obediently lay on his back, expecting the sweetest torment in his immediate future.

He was not disappointed as two scalding hot palms came into contact with the back of his thighs and pushed his legs up. There was something about being maneuvered into position that was intensely erotic. Garak was arranging him on the table, hunger shining in his covetous gaze. Julian let the back of his head hit the table (curiously soft) and tried biting back his moans. He was being pushed farther onto the table, Garak’s hands a caress on the soft back of his thighs.

He dared not watch for fear of being overwhelmed too soon, but he felt every slide of coarse fingertips, creeping ever closer to the junction of his thighs, intent on driving him completely insane.

He was seriously contemplating counting the metal beams in the ceiling to stave off the inevitable, but the moment he felt hands pulling up his skant, he knew he was in for it. The second Elim’s tongue touched him - licking a long, languid stripe up his shaft - Julian let out an embarrassing whimper.

“You taste like a treat, my dear…” Garak murmured against his naked arousal and Julian was half tempted to forbid Elim from speaking entirely. It was patently unfair – nobody should have this kind of power over another, especially not-

Oh, damn it-

Cardassian tongue was longer, wasn’t it? Oh, that felt positively _criminal_ , possibly even illegal on Cardassia-

Elim’s mouth was so hot, so eager, so _willing-_

Julian writhed on the table, onslaught of sensation overwhelming the senses. It just felt so fucking _good_ , especially with a firm grip of Elim’s hand on his thigh, holding him steady and preventing him from arching off the table and tumbling to the floor in a disgraceful heap.

And when Elim hummed around his cock, Julian let out a strangled groan, his hand shooting out towards the source. He grasped blindly, fingers brushing against a ridged forehead, his mind undecided whether to beg for a ceasefire, or to unconditionally surrender. Unable to make up his mind, Julian’s fingers slid into smooth black hair of their own accord, carding through slicked-back strands and messing up their perfect configuration.

While his brain was wondering what to do, his body seemed firmly in the _unconditional surrender_ camp, encouraging Elim with every harsh breath, every incoherent moan, and every brush and grip of fingers, slowly tangling in jet hair.

Just as Elim had unraveled the stitching of his briefs, he was currently unraveling the rest of Julian, making him whimper in need - incoherent praises and half-spoken encouragements falling from his lips. No part of Julian was still under his control – his thighs were straining, his spine arching, and his fingers kept brushing against Garak’s forehead. Mindlessly, Julian’s thumb found Elim’s spoon and caressed the indentation.

The effect was both unexpected and immediate – Elim disengaged with a wet sound that made Julian blush furiously. If he didn’t know better, the slack-mouthed expression of utter debauchery painted on Elim’s usually so carefully controlled features couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than an orgasm. He righted himself marginally to get a better look.

Garak’s entire attire was black, but when Julian strained his eyes he noticed something new.

Well, several new somethings.

First of all, a visible tenting on Garak’s trousers that he was fairly certain wasn’t there before, and also what appeared like quite the impressive stain-

“Everted like an overly-aroused youth,” Elim commented, somewhat dismayed. “Do you see what you do to me, Julian?”

Julian swallowed, wishing very much that he _could_ see it.

“I’m afraid your clothing is rather in the way, Garak…”

The look of displeasure melted into a provocative grin.

“Whatever reason could you have to want me out of my clothes, Julian?”

Julian grinned. So, they were playing this game, were they?

“Why, you could catch your death in such wet garments, Garak - it must be absolutely freezing for you!”

“Is that your opinion as a doctor? Or is it simply the prurient curiosity that seems to be an intrinsic human trait, rearing its ugly head?”

“Garak!” Julian pretended to be scandalized. “Why, are you calling me a xenophile?”

“That’s what _you_ said, Doctor.” Garak deflected, gleaming devilish eyes daring Julian to keep up.

“Casting aspersions on my character, that’s quite low! I’m hurt.”

“Aspersions, my dear?” Garak feigned ignorance, “why, it’s merely something the dabo girls talked about while I was fitting them for their new dresses…”

“Oh really?” Julian challenged. “You wouldn’t happen to remember exactly what they said? In case I want to sue them for defamation?”

Garak tutted in mock disappointment.

“You would rather argue with me than look after my health… Perhaps you aren’t such a qualified physician after all.”

Julian had a sudden epiphany. Were insults part of courtship? Judging by Cardassian literature, that seemed to be the case.

“And what kind of a tailor are you – destroying perfectly good underwear! I should make you craft me a new pair of briefs for free!”

Garak growled low in his throat.

“I would rather show you why they were unsightly in the first place, Doctor.”

Julian stared in slack-jawed wonder as Garak reached for the unfastenings to his trousers; undoing clasps that he didn’t even know were part of the garment. When they fell away, Garak picked the trousers up and draped them across the table carelessly. Julian was too busy taking in the ridges and scales of Garak’s strong legs to care about much else.

He almost missed Garak rattling off something in Kardassi which sounded like a barking order, when the air vents hissed and noticeably warmer air and moisture started pouring in.

“Just making myself comfortable, my dear, there’s no cause for alarm.” Garak said nonchalantly and started removing his tunic as well.

Garak was looking at him, a brazen smirk sharpening his features as his black tunic slipped down his intricately patterned shoulders and arms in small increments. Julian almost choked at the realization that he was getting a private striptease. He’d never found that particularly interesting, but something about it being Garak just did it for him.

With a swish, the tunic joined its pair on the messy heap next to Julian.

Everything he’d always been curious about – bared to his gaze. Intricate ridges and rows of scales stained a much darker grey than the rest of Garak’s skin, looking like adornment almost.

Were there statues of naked Cardassians? If not, there totally should be. If the rest of the inhabitants of the galaxy knew what Cardassians looked like in the nude, it would do wonders for Cardassian diplomacy. What a missed opportunity!

Julian realized he was actually panting in anticipation.

An intense gaze raked over him possessively - a caress without a caress, fierce and demanding. Julian squirmed. Waiting for carefully doled out touches, he bit his lip. It was so hard to keep quiet, especially when Garak pressed his ridged nose into Julian’s thigh, rubbing slightly and breathing him in. A tentative nip, a soft flicker of tongue against the soft skin made him tremble.

Garak’s raspy tongue traveled up, and Julian felt quite grateful to one of his exes for telling him to shave regularly if he wanted-

“Garak…” Julian breathed out, “oh-that’s- I’m not sure you should-“

Garak acknowledged his feeble protestation with a defiant smirk.

“Did you know you smelled like flowers, Doctor? Down here?”

Julian felt his skin flush hot in embarrassment. What a thing to say!

It probably had something to do with 3-methylindole, and he was about to start explaining when a warm mouth engulfed him and scattered his thoughts to the winds.

Held down and fellated, Julian bit his knuckle in a bid to stifle the moans. It was impossible – the scalding tongue curling around his head – tasting, caressing-

Julian felt delirious, skin prickling, consciousness narrowing to a single point – the wet pressure, the vibration of Garak’s low hum and a slick sound of sliding that sounded somewhat incongruous.

Compelled to take a look, he took in the sight greedily – Garak intent upon exploring him like some kind of outrageous hedonist, one hand grasping Julian’s thigh and the other-

“Oh, fuck-“ Julian whined.

Garak’s other hand was busy dipping into his genital slit, two-no, three fingers glistening up to his knuckles. The insides of Garak’s thighs were completely slick, shining in the dimmed light. The image of the ever composed and always in control former intelligence agent pleasuring himself with such reckless abandon was just so _painfully_ arousing.

If Julian hadn’t come recently, the sight would have hurtled him straight over the edge.

He wanted to give Garak pleasure too, not content to stay a passive participant. Julian touched the beautiful scales adorning Garak’s shoulders, fingers exploring the grooves and bumps, increasing the pressure – pinching gently, and drinking in the way Garak moaned with his mouth and slit full.

“Garak, fuck- you’re so hot-“ Julian panted, knowing how painfully trite the statement was. There was no word in Standard to accurately describe how insanely arousing the sight was. It wasn’t merely hot, it was volcanic - _nuclear_ – fusion happening inside a star at temperatures that boggled the mind.

Blue eyes snapped open, the blue a tiny, almost invisible ring around a well of obsidian.

Garak looked insensate, primordial – beyond words.

Julian had never wanted anyone more.

“Why don’t you put those slick fingers in me?” He suggested, breaths laden with desire.

Garak said nothing, blue eyes open and unblinking, mouth busy drawing him in, inch by gloriously spit-slicked inch. Julian wondered whether his words even penetrated the lustful haze when he heard a soft squelching sound. His eyes widened as Garak fingers tightened, digging into his thigh deliciously, while his other hand pulled out slowly, almost reluctantly.

Julian dared not breathe, ogling the slippery digits as they inched ever closer. He couldn’t help the whimper when Garak’s glistening fingers caressed the fluttery muscle at his entrance. Unlike most kinds of lubricant, this one was so unbelievably _warm_.

“Ah-ahh,” Julian moaned as questing fingertips circled, once, twice; teasing and testing almost mercilessly. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from those gleaming eyes and fingers. How much longer could Garak draw it out before Julian started begging in earnest? Half-lying on the table, nested in fabric samples, Julian trembled – watching and waiting; staring at the almost manic gleam in the eyes of the man who was about to get to know him most intimately. A fingertip pushed at him slowly before finally, _finally_ sliding in, virtually unopposed.

Garak was staring at him brazenly, relentless in the pursuit of pleasure. Julian couldn’t rightly say whose pleasure Garak was actually chasing, his or Julian’s. All he knew was that he wanted more – more fingers, more friction, more fullness.

And when a second finger slipped inside, Julian’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed back onto the table, groaning in pleasure.

***

Julian was letting him do as he pleased, squirming wantonly on his display table, taking everything he was getting with such a voracious appetite that Garak was in danger of climaxing from that alone.

Julian’s tight opening was squeezing around him, trying to entrap his fingers. If he didn’t have plenty of evidence to the contrary, Garak would assume he was hurting Julian – instead, he was getting a veritable deluge of positive feedback.

Even in his lonely, feverish imaginings, he had never dared hope Julian could sound like this, so free, so loose. Oh, it was obvious from a mile away that Julian was a sensual and passionate creature but Garak hadn’t actually expected to be given the opportunity to see it, let alone be the cause of such rapture.

He wanted to give Julian everything. Things that already existed, as well as things nobody’s ever even imagined before. One look at the human and he felt like universe was being cracked open before him, almost like the primeval seed cracking the shell of darkness to fill the void with life. He had never shared the Hebitian myth of creation with Julian. Perhaps that should be amended.

The Hebitian heritage Tolan had been so proud of was a long denied part of his nature that Garak had tried to suppress. It was easier to dismiss it than it was to admit to himself that he felt most alive when he was growing things and nurturing them. And there had never been a living thing he’d felt that urge so acutely for until Julian.

Garak desired to uplift Julian, to see him blissfully happy and thriving, and he used to believe that this would be best accomplished by helping Julian develop a thicker skin. Now he was forced to admit that it was that vulnerability, that honesty and openness that made Julian the person he was. The dear Doctor had never needed changing.

Julian had reached into him effortlessly and dragged whatever was left redeemable of him out into the light. It was a frail, neglected thing – a gnarled sapling choked in parasitic growth.

“Gah-ah-mmmh-“ Julian lost his polished diction and Garak let the smooth erection slide out of his mouth – to better watch the writhing body beneath him.

He wanted to ask Julian what he wanted but realized his voice was lost. Long brown fingers were fisting into Garak’s crumpled tunic lying on the table next to him and Garak felt that like a physical touch almost.

“Ah-mmm-more-please,” Julian begged, his warm thigh flexing in Garak’s grip.

“What do you want, Julian?” Garak croaked, shocked at the state of his voice.

With a strangled groan, Julian tried to get up and was only marginally successful, his entire body shuddering. He seemed at a momentary loss for words.

“Anything else?” Garak asked coarsely, his vocal cords strained.

Panting and trembling, Julian muttered, “If you don’t fuck me now, I will die and haunt you forever.”

 _You don’t have to die for that, my dear,_ Garak thought. If they were separated due to cruel whims of fate, Garak knew that the specter, the imprint of Julian would follow him until his soul was consigned unto oblivion upon his death.

Garak knew this was a perfect opportunity to land a quip, but the only thing he found himself capable of saying was-

“As you wish.”

Julian whimpered in loss when Garak gently pulled his fingers out. Garak picked up the first fabric sample he saw and wiped his fingers off. Julian was worrying his lower lip, eyes burning with wild, almost chaotic want.

It was impossible not to react to the need expressed in the lines of Julian’s taut body.

Garak pulled Julian closer by the thighs and slung his smooth leg over his shoulder, letting its warmth rest against the burning heat of his flushed ridges. Long deft fingers found Garak’s ridged cock and stroked from tip to bottom, making him shudder.

“Oh God, you’re so slick,” Julian observed and wrapped his other leg around Garak’s waist, pulling him in and guiding him with trembling fingers until the tip of his erection was nudging up against the tight entrance to Julian’s body. Garak stared at Julian who was squirming and straining, silken skin of his thigh hugging the scales of Garak’s hips and waist – trying to draw him closer.

Without a word, Garak pushed, hips canting and snapping forward until he was completely enveloped in searing heat. Oh, Julian was cooler than a Cardassian lover, by ten degrees at least, but it’s been so very long since he’d been with anyone that even this temperature was agonizing bliss. What he lacked in heat, Julian more than made up with _tightness_ , creating significantly more friction than what Garak was used to.

Julian was gasping, hands reaching out blindly and sliding across Garak’s chest, not lingering in any place in particular, but just the feel of those soft fingertips finding gaps between ridges and scales to the softer, unprotected skin beneath set Garak ablaze.

Garak held Julian’s thighs, luxuriating in the feel of damp, smooth skin. Buried to the hilt, he held his breath as Julian’s mucles fluttered and contracted around him. Unable to help himself, the ridges along his shaft expanded, pulsing with warmth.

Julian let out a garbled cry, eyes going wide in surprise.

“Garak- what was-ah,” Julian stammered and Garak allowed this natural reaction to unfold, ridges contracting and expanding once more, the flare of them almost painful, “-that! Did your-oh-ohhhh-“

Any further commentary was momentary lost as Julian gaped, face contorted in pleasure, the tendons in his beautiful neck straining and beautifully taut.

“Oh, that’s- that’s brilliant, you’re brilliant, utterly-oh fuck-“ Julian babbled, writhing and incoherent. “Just… oh, in and out – please, just-just move-ah!”

Ah, humans relied on thrusting movements, didn’t they?

Well, Garak saw no reason not to oblige.

He pulled out almost completely and then slid back in.

The feeling was indescribable – the gentle heat, the constricting, silky softness. Fucking Julian was a surreal, decadent experience. Cardassians, once joined, tended not to move as much – their anatomy did most of the work, ridges flaring and inner rings of scale constricting, trapping – yet this way, Garak was pushing against initial resistance, Julian’s muscles squeezing then engulfing him, hugging every ridge so intimately that he couldn’t get enough. Garak repeated the thrusting motion and got a desperate and drawn out moan for his efforts.

Julian was breaking apart underneath him, movements sinuous and wild, uncoordinated yet somehow perfectly conveying his wishes. Unable to deny him anything, Garak tried to perform the snapping hip movements required for this endeavor and got a harsh, keening cry of pleasure in return.

“Quiet, Julian-“ Garak instructed, even though his mind was demanding he pull Julian apart at the seams until he forgot his own name and screamed Garak’s instead.

With a whimper, Julian pulled one of his hands to his mouth and bit his knuckle, trying to muffle the noises he was making.

It was too much – Julian was too beautiful, too eager, too yielding.

Garak climaxed with a choked noise, filling Julian to the brim. Spurt after spurt, the rain poured into Julian’s receptive body until there was no more.

***

Biting his knuckle wasn’t enough and Julian covered his mouth with his palm and cried out, knowing that moderating his volume was absolutely impossible at this point.

Cardassian seed was so hot and it just kept _coming,_ glorious and utterly relentless – just like Garak.

He was so close, so achingly, terribly close, but Garak had stopped moving, his face a vision of agonized bliss. With a gentle grunt, Julian felt the ridges on Garak’s member receding to their original size as it pulled out, slick and drenched, back into the genital slit.

Julian was enthralled by the sight, yet when he shifted, he felt a rush of hot liquid seeping out of him. He scrambled to find something to stem it, embarrassed to leave such a mess on the table that Garak used for conducting business.

It seemed Garak had other plans, gray fingers squeezing the leg that still rested over Garak’s ridged shoulder in warning almost.

“Up.” Garak instructed.

“It will get all over the floor if I get up!” Julian protested, cheeks and ears burning in embarrassment.

“Let it. I dare say it’s not the worst thing this flooring has seen.”

With that, Garak released his leg and hoisted it off his shoulder. Still painfully aroused, Julian let his legs reach the floor and took a breath to steady the trembling in his muscles. With an impatient click of tongue, Garak pulled him up and Julian was about to ask what had gotten into him when-

When-

Garak pulled his skant futher up, grasped Julian’s weeping erection and guided it to his spread legs where his slit glistened, darkly flushed scales gleaming wetly in the dimmed lights.

Julian gasped in shock as Garak took him in with a single sliding motion, settling on his cock like this was exactly where he belonged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D


	10. The Soiled Samples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand this is the final chapter of this smutty little excursion! Many thanks to ConceptaDecency for giving it a read to reassure me!
> 
> Have fun! ^^

He was so full.

Full of Julian.

It should hurt, Garak thought through a haze; being this full should definitely hurt.

Didn’t change the fact that it didn’t. Possibly because he was slicker than he could ever remember being, not even when he’d been young and nervous, experimenting with a classmate back at Bamarren.

Still, it felt almost sacrilegious to think of another while Julian was trembling before him, trying really hard not to move.

Even behind that slightly worried frown, Julian’s eyes sparked with poorly restrained passion. Garak could feel the heat bubbling under the soft brown skin, buzzing and chaotic, struggling to be unleashed.

“I won’t break if you move, Julian.”

Julian’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, eyelashes fluttering, breath naught but a strangled hiss. Nimble fingers grasped his hips firmly, sending skittering sparks down his ridges. Head thrown back, Julian moaned.

Garak loved it, making his partner feel so lost in pleasure that all reason left them.

Not even Palandine had managed it.

And here was Julian, driven to senselessness and incoherence from Garak’s touches - from his voice, from the way he made Julian feel.

If there ever was a victory – this was it.

Garak rolled his hips in encouragement, eliciting a groan from his lover.

Oh, how good it felt to think it.

His lover.

Julian.

“I will come in three seconds flat if you keep doing that, Garak.” Julian panted, eyes wild. Garak could see in them a kind of despair for fulfillment, as well as a desire to please.

“Take your pleasure, Julian.”

It was a demand as well as an offer. To be perfectly honest, it also served as permission, in case Bashir was once again missing the glaringly obvious.

With a long sinuous movement, Julian withdrew, his fingers digging deeper into the scales of Garak’s hips.

“What about-ah-your pleasure, Garak?”

He couldn’t help a lazy grin.

“Do I look miserable to you?”

Julian flushed and stammered. It was beyond adorable.

“Well, n-no, not particularly, but… I’ve been accused of-well… Not being observant enough when I am enjoying myself too much and first times can already be so difficult to navigate and-“

“Julian.” Garak stopped the self-denigrating parade before it got too out of hand. “There is pleasure in seeing your partner’s face contorted in bliss, isn’t there?”

Julian swallowed and nodded hastily.

“And I enjoy watching you, my dear.”

The flush deepened, coloring the tips of Julian’s ears.

“I… I’d like to try something?” Julian said hesitantly. “If you’re amenable, of course, I mean… I don’t know if there are any places I am not allowed to touch you, you know, due to some… culturological taboos?”

There were places like that. The three sacred, sensitive places that no one but one’s spouse, or at least a particularly trustworthy lover was allowed to explore.

One of which Julian had already unknowingly caressed with his thumb.

“There are none.” Garak found himself saying.

_Not for you._

Julian didn’t need to know that, so Garak blithely omitted it. Just another white lie.

The relief on Julian’s dear face was palpable.

“Oh, great! I mean, good.”

Garak watched Julian clear his throat and look up at him sheepishly.

How one could be sheepish while engaged in this particular activity boggled Garak’s mind. Julian was truly one of a kind.

Carefully, Julian lifted his right hand from Garak’s hip and seemed to hesitate for but a moment before steeling his resolve for whatever it was that he wanted to try. Gentle fingers brushed Garak’s cheek, tracing the ear ridges along his jaw. It felt comforting and Garak sighed softly. The fingertips were soft, their touch deliberate and so very careful. Garak melted into the caresses and closed his eyes.

He could still see Julian – the outline of him, his energy - his electromagnetic field. Even his energetic signature was beautiful, swirling in a gorgeous plum purple and indigo.

Careful touches outlined the ridges around his eyes and up towards his hairline. Then they stopped for a moment, lifting, keeping him suspended.

He was in good hands, he knew.

Julian would never abuse his vulnerability.

And when the touch descended, it pulled an involuntary whimper out of his mouth.

Humans and Bajorans called it a spoon, utterly incapable of grasping its meaning and significance. It was like calling someone’s soul by using the word for something most mundane and disposable – like an eating utensil.

Cardassians had three separate words for the vestigial sensory organs.

The Sky.

The Earth.

The Deep Spring.

The primordial elements of creation.

The only remaining places upon a Cardassian body that supposedly connected them to the higher plane - the conduits.

And he was being lifted by gentle touches exploring his Sky.

Sky was connected to the mind, the imagination. To be touched there was to be challenged, to be worshipped. The soul could be accessed through any of the conduits, but to Elim, being acknowledged for his mind was always something he’d craved.

To ancient Hebitians, the mind was inseparable from the soul. As was a person’s passion, drive and sexuality.

And while Julian had no way of knowing that, his intuition was flawless. Warm, smooth hips rocked forward, filling him once more.

With a shudder, he allowed himself to be taken.

***

Oh, it hadn’t been a coincidence. The spoon shape on Garak’s forehead was _sensitive_ , if that dissolute moan was any indication. Julian _had_ been accused of not paying attention before, but when he _did_ , he didn’t miss anything. That’s what made him a good doctor. He could process every stray twitch of muscle, every minute expression of discomfort or pain – and right now? All he could see was pleasure, wave upon wave until it seemed that Garak was drowning in it.

God, he was so beautiful.

Julian caressed the indentation on Garak’s forehead once more, pressing more insistently and then gently, in turns. It made Garak moan and grind his hips against Julian’s, seeking pleasure shamelessly.

Julian gritted his teeth. It would be so absurdly easy to spill himself into Garak, who was so slick yet textured, rings of ridges attempting to squeeze Julian in place.

But he wanted to make Garak’s mind spin.

He wanted to make it perfect.

He wanted Garak’s blue eyes to snap open in surprise, wondering how something could feel so good.

Selfishly, Julian wanted to be the best Garak’s ever had.

Perhaps that was a foolish aspiration, especially considering that Garak had probably had dozens of lovers before, many likely exotic and alluring, met through his missions for the Obsidian Order. A human, and a male at that, was about the most boring lover imaginable.

Julian knew he didn’t have much going for him – no interesting patterns adorning his skin, no colorful plumage, no expanding cartilage. Not even particularly impressive stamina or strength, even with his augmentations - not when compared to a Klingon, for instance.

What he did have was a keen eye, a sharp mind, and nimble fingers. He learned fast and he never, ever forgot.

That is why he knew that Garak’s expression, the feel of slick scales and throbbing inner walls would stay burned into his mind permanently.

If it felt so good to touch the first drop shape, how would the other two make Garak react? He kept his index touching the gentle dip in Garak’s forehead and focused on the beautifully framed indentation between Garak’s clavicles.

Tentatively, he kissed the scales along Garak’s pebbled collarbones, and felt him tensing beneath his lips. Julian ghosted a breath over the pretty medallion and heard a choked inhale. Curious and unable to stop himself, Julian licked into it – a kittenish little swipe of tongue.

Garak keened out and Julian felt a delicious constriction, followed by a spurt of slick fluid.

Elim was shaking, gasping, trying to breathe and failing. Julian wanted so badly to say his name but didn’t feel confident that he was allowed to. He’d kept Garak’s name to himself like a treasured keepsake, something only he knew. Revealing his knowledge of it, even to the man in question, seemed strange.

With the evidence of Cardassian orgasm dribbling down his inner thighs, Julian found it impossible to contain himself any longer. Julian licked again, and again, his hips thrusting into the most delicious kind of warmth and friction, knowing that he wouldn’t need to chase his orgasm for much longer, it was so close, so-

With a harsh grunt, Julian climaxed, buried deep in Elim.

For the next minute or so, the world blurred around the edges. The buzzing in his ears and blackness around his vision conspired, robbing him of his senses.

***

For a moment, he was mindless. Anxieties, fears and paranoia took a backseat, erased by the rush of bliss he hadn’t managed even with the wire on maximum setting.

Claimed.

His.

For a moment, his mind wasn’t absorbed in scenarios, wasn’t stuck in the past or lost in fruitless daydreaming – no. Garak existed in a place without boundaries, where the physical transcended the confines of their material plane and reached a state of perfect equilibrium and understanding. Brought there by Julian.

Perhaps it was all in his head, but he felt as if he was floating in some nameless, sacred place that precious few could access. A place where he was accepted, even… loved.

A gentle kiss graced his Earth, warm and lovely. There was an amused huff against the skin on his neck.

“Well, that was…”

“Adequate?” Garak supplied in good humor.

Julian laughed, bright and clear.

“That is probably the last word I would use to describe it, but have it your way!”

“What word would you use, then?” Garak needled, warm and too curious by far.

Warm hazel eyes met his.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Julian said flirtatiously, “Incredible? Amazing?”

“Long overdue?” Garak offered, his lazy grin coming far too easily. Julian’s tinkling laughter was a balm for his bruised soul. “You should really seduce me more often, my dear.”

Julian seemed torn between being exasperated and amused.

“Based on the evidence, I believe I should! Though, I’m pretty sure you seduced _me_.”

“Nonsense, your pursuit of me has been quite shameless, why, I might be the first Cardassian successfully wooed by a string of catastrophic sartorial choices! Cardassians may thrive on adversarial dynamics, but nobody would be quite as bold as you were, Julian.”

The chiding tone seemed to inflame his companion.

“What! And what was that blue tunic, then? I’m pretty sure that’s plenty outrageous by prim Cardassian standards. When I saw you in it, I wondered who you were trying to seduce and assassinate afterwards! It also occurred to me that I may be the target…” Julian mumbled, somewhat distractedly.

“I enjoy our interactions far too much to deprive myself of your company.”

There. That was at least somewhat vague. Ugh, he was such a sop.

Julian squirmed and Garak noted he’d gone soft inside him, soon slipping out altogether.

“This is so messy,” Julian all but whined, “I had no idea it would be this… wet.”

Garak’s smile had no teeth but it was no less sharp for it.

“It’s not called _the_ _flood_ for nothing…”

Julian spluttered, face flushing beautifully.

“This is quite normal, I assure you.” Garak said calmly, enjoying the gentle ache between his thighs.

“Well, _Garak_ , I believe I have some _flood_ in my boots! Eugh, one of my socks is wet…”

With a chuckle, Garak stepped forward and rummaged through the fabric samples, picking absorbent, natural fibres and handing some to Julian who took them with a bashful little smile.

Garak wiped his thighs with a square of thick Andorian linen, and was grateful for the many grooves and scales that halted the progress of slick down his legs. Across from him, Julian was also doing his best to wipe himself off, even if the liquids had run all the way down his legs.

Garak had never thought the words _devastatingly handsome_ to be more apt.

“I am hoping you have some spare clothes for me,” Julian said significantly, “After you so _efficiently_ ruined mine.”

What a perfectly Cardassian rebuke. Magnificent.

“Naturally! Though, might I suggest we clean up more thoroughly? I dare say my shop has acquired a certain… _piquancy_ in the past hour or so.”

“Oh God,” Julian buried his face in his palms, obviously embarrassed.

“And since I do not have a sonic shower unit in the back, as you are well-aware-“

Julian’s almost hysterical laughter interrupted his train of thought. “An actual walk of shame? Oh dear lord…”

“I was about to suggest we go to my quarters using a discreet transport.”

Julian’s head snapped back up.

“All transports on the station are logged, Garak!”

Garak couldn’t keep the smugness out of his expression.

“I retain a… _modest_ amount of control over Cardassian systems, as crippled as they are…”

“Can’t we transport to my quarters?” Julian asked hopefully and Garak felt almost bad for having to deny him.

“I’m afraid not,” he said in a conciliatory manner, “for any transport originating from here would be visible, unless it goes to a very specific and pre-determined location which is programmed to look like a simple glitch…”

“Your quarters.” Julian concluded.

“My quarters.” Garak affirmed and strolled around the shop, pulling an emerald green shirt and some black trousers that would fit Julian.

“What about the shop?” Julian inquired, “I feel bad that you have to close for the day - that must mean lost revenue for you…”

“Worry not, my dear, there’s always the decontamination protocol… it should be good as new by tomorrow morning.” Garak said as he fiddled with a console, inputting his commands. He set the filtration system to clear out the air and reset humidity back to Federation standards (only once they were gone).

“What about these?” Julian asked, holding up his unstitched undergarment.

“Give them here.” Garak said nonchalantly and offered his palm. Julian seemed slightly dubious, yet acquiesced, handing the moist and shapeless fabric over.

Garak strolled over to his replicator, dropped it in, where the machine promptly dematerialized it.

“Hey!” Julian cried out, upset over the turn of events he clearly hadn’t expected, “I thought you were going to mend them!”

Garak gave him an unapologetic (and likely insufferable) smile.

“Oh dear, what a terrible misunderstanding!”

Julian’s eyes narrowed in accusation, but his lips were quivering, fighting to suppress a smile and failing.

“I guess I should have seen that coming, huh?”

Garak took his crumpled tunic off the table, shook it off and draped it over his other hand.

“All is fair in love and war, isn’t that right?” He said lightly, relishing the flash of challenge in Julian’s eyes.

“You usually mock every human saying I share with you!”

“Of course I do, Doctor!” The exasperation in his tone was very real, even if it was tempered by immense fondness. “If I didn’t, what other innocuous topic could we use to build an appropriately _adversarial_ relationship around?”

“You’re unbelievable, Garak.” Julian shook his head. “Bloody unbelievable.”

“Thank you! I do believe that’s one of the most complimentary words I have received after a thorough fucking.”

“Garaaaaaaaaaaaak-” Julian whined, mortified and flushed.

Fondness crept into his gaze while Julian’s eyes were closed.

Perhaps there was hope for them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, chapter 9 was 100% unfiltered lizard angst that I wrote while tipsy and had to scrap, but as DHW so helpfully pointed out - I could simply use it in a follow-up fic, which is exactly what I'm going to do! It will be more angsty than this smut-fiesta, but the material is simply too good to waste. 
> 
> See you all soon, mwah!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are fuel, tell me what you think!


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